House of Sun
by Aerus
Summary: The shadows gather. To create anew the old friendship between the kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor, a marriage is agreed upon. An unexpected bridegroom, a reluctant princess, and two lives bound together by chance. "The fates were at work that day..."
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **House of Sun

**Genre: **Romance

**Rating: **T for now (may change)

**Pairing: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Disclaimer: **The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No finanfical profit is made by writing this.

**Summary: **The shadows gather. To create anew the old friendship between the kingdom of Rohan and Gondor, a marriage is agreed upon. An unexpected bridesgroom, a reluctant princess, and two lives bound together by chance. _"The fates were at work that day..." _

**Author****'****s ****Note: **Okay, I've gone mad (or madder than I already was), and Lothíriel and Éomer just _won't shut up. _I suppose this is, in a way, inspired by "Marshal's Wife" and the setting there - meaning, what if our horselord and our princess were married _before _the great battles of the War of the Ring were fought? I suppose that makes this an AU story, but anyway.

I'm not sure how fast this will update, though. I seriously need to spend less time writing and concentrate more on actual work.

Nevertheless, hope you enjoy!

* * *

_"Life calls the tune, we dance."_  
_― John Galsworthy_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_March 3017, Minas Tirith_

When Lord Denethor asked to see him on that morning of brisk March, Prince Imrahil thought it was just about some running matters of the realm, or perhaps the Steward wanted to plan some war campaign. At least the latter sounded likely with the dangers ever growing and the shadow falling steeper over the lands of men.

As he made his way towards the topmost citadel, he once again took note of the watchful silence that hung over the White City. Thus it had been almost as long as Imrahil could remember. It was one of the reasons he did not love these visits to Minas Tirith; though his duties often took him here, he tried to make the trips short. It was no wonder to him why his sister had wasted away in this city.

Sometimes, he still blamed his father for letting Finduilas marry Denethor... but then, when he looked upon the faces of her sons, Imrahil felt she had also given Gondor hope that had not been there for a long time.

"Uncle", called the younger of those two sons now as he entered the palace. Though Faramir's duties usually kept him in Ithilien, he did come to Minas Tirith as often as he was able. There was much in the young captain that reminded the Prince of his late sister. She was there in his face too, especially in his eyes and mouth. Boromir was more like their father, but Imrahil had always thought even Denethor's first-born had some gentleness, doubtlessly inherited from Lady Finduilas, that was not present in the Steward himself.

"Faramir", Imrahil greeted and smiled, "I didn't know you were in the city."

"I only arrived late last night, uncle", said Faramir softly. "Are you on your way to see Father?"

"Indeed I am. There is something important he wishes to speak of with me", answered the Prince, once again wondering what it might be.

"He called me as well", said the younger man. Denethor often required his sons to attend when matters of the realm were discussed, which Imrahil thought wise. Both were grown men and already experienced warriors whose insight was valuable. Still, it must be an important thing Denethor had in mind, if both his sons were to be present too.

"Could I perhaps ask you to join me for supper tonight? It's been long since we've last had a proper conversation", he asked as they made their way towards the Steward's private study. His nephew gave an apologetic smile.

"I fear I must decline. Father wants me to return to my post later this day", Faramir said, and the Prince refrained from commenting that the Steward pushed his younger son too much. Really, the young captain did look like a proper night's rest might have done him much good.

Being a father of four himself, Imrahil did not always understand the way Denethor treated his sons. In fact, one could have said that he was at the same time the most doting father that ever existed and also the most negligent one. Often it was Imrahil that Faramir came to with his concerns, as if the young man saw him as something of a surrogate father. Though it grieved the Prince that his sister-son and his brother-in-law had such a strained relationship, he was happy that at least Faramir trusted him that much.

"Some other time, then", he said however, keeping his opinions on Denethor's parenting to himself.

They came to the Steward's study then, and once Imrahil had knocked, his brother-in-law's voice called them in. The study had once been that of the King, but as the throne had long been left unvacated, the Stewards of Gondor had eventually migrated into the royal study. It made sense anyway, as most of the maps and the more important scrolls and books were located there.

There were three men in the study. Denethor himself was sat behind the large desk. At the age of 87, he was still as alert and sharp as he had ever been. Though he had grown grim over the years, he was still one of the most valiant men one could find in the kingdoms of men. By the window, his oldest son stood staring out. Boromir reminded Imrahil much of Denethor when the Steward had been younger, and in him, Gondor would have another outstanding leader.

The third man, sat before the Steward's desk, was something of a surprise. His fair hair and his clothes marked him as a man of Rohan – a most surprising guest to say the very least. Though the Rohirrim had been Gondor's friends since the times of King Eorl, the relations between the two countries had grown ever more sparse during the years of late. The Prince knew what he heard in his southern city of Dol Amroth were probably just echoes, but the rumours spoke of gathering dark in the kingdom of horselords. It had troubled Imrahil and he was certain it disturbed Denethor even more, for if even the fierce people like the Rohirrim were fighting to survive, it could only mean ill for Gondor too.

He did not know what it meant that a Rohir was here, sat by the Steward's table: was it a good sign of old friendship resurrected or a warning of strife to come?

"Lord Denethor", Imrahil greeted the Steward and nodded towards Boromir, who had now turned to look at the newcomers. Denethor leant back in his chair.

"Prince Imrahil", said the older man; his eyes briefly rested on Faramir, but he gave his younger son no other recognition than that.

"You wished to speak with me, my lord?" Imrahil asked.

"I did. It is a matter of great importance, but let me first introduce you to Master Metodlác of Rohan. King Théoden has sent him here on an important mission", Denethor said and gestured towards the Rohir. The fair-haired man stood up to greet the Prince. His sharp-featured face was weather-beaten and lined with age and many concerns, but his blue eyes were keen and observant. His flaxen hair had started to turn white though his beard remained yellow with gold-red tint. He couldn't have been too young but he still stood tall and straight, dressed in the greens and browns his people favoured.

"It is an honour to meet you, my lord", Metodlác said and bowed his head.

"Likewise, Master Metodlác. What brings you here in Minas Tirith?" Imrahil asked.

The Rohir glanced at Denethor, who gestured at the chairs opposite his desk and said: "Please, sit down, and we will discuss."

Imrahil did so while Faramir took his place at Denethor's left, and once they were settled in their chairs, the Steward spoke again.

"Master Metodlác here has come to us with an interesting proposal. He has told me much of his land and the many concerns there. As a matter of fact, we've both agreed that now it is a time, if ever, to strengthen our alliance and friendship", Denethor began, pressing the tips of his fingers against each other.

"And what do you propose, my friend? What does your king say?" Imrahil asked the fair-haired man.

"The Rohirrim believe that the trust and faith is best placed in home and hearth – family, in other words. In this time of danger and doubt Théoden King believes that such bond might be forged between Rohan and Gondor again, as it was in his father's time when Thengel wed Morwen. So, he proposes that the Houses of Eorl and Dol Amroth be unified by a marriage", said Metodlác at length, attentively studying Imrahil's face as if in an attempt to read his mind.

"A marriage? Between whom?" asked the Prince.

"Lord Denethor here has told me that you have a daughter, my lord. If I may say so, it was what I hoped when I came here. For you see, our Crown Prince Théodred is still unmarried, and he'd be honoured to have the hand of Princess Lothíriel in marriage", Metodlác said carefully.

Imrahil sat silent, trying to come up with something to say. This was about the last thing he had expected to hear when Denethor had requested his presence, and the surprise had left him speechless. And the Steward was expecting him to part with his only daughter and give her to a man he – or she herself! – had never even met!

"But she is so young", was all Imrahil could muster from his surprise. Denethor did not seem too affected by that, however. If anything, he just lifted his eyebrows.

"I do not think your wife was any older when the two of you married", he said pointedly.

"Well, that is only because Celairiel could not be persuaded to wait any longer. It was her choice. This is a different situation altogether", Imrahil answered. He was thinking fast, trying to come up with something convincing enough... but Faramir was quicker than him.

"With all due respect, I must speak on my cousin's behalf and say that this marriage would suit her ill. I seem to recall that Prince Théodred is twice her age", said the young captain. Denethor cast a stark look from under his eyebrows at his son.

"The age difference between myself and your mother was the same, and our marriage was quite happy", the Steward pointed out. It was the first time since her death that Imrahil heard his brother-in-law even mentioning Finduilas. It was widely known that the Steward had loved his wife dearly, and that her death was a grief he had never quite recovered from.

Faramir, however, wasn't so easily beaten.

"That is true, yes. But Lothíriel is not the same as Mother was... and like Aunt Celairiel, she wanted marriage as well. However, our cousin most like won't. Father, the only thing it should achieve would be her unhappiness. And did Master Metodlác not just say about how the strength should in these times be found in the home and hearth? I must ask, can there be strength there without happiness?" he asked, his voice turning spirited suddenly. Imrahil knew his nephew was very fond of Lothíriel, but now he sounded more like one of her brothers than her cousin. Really, the Prince could have very well imagined one of his sons speaking like him.

Faramir had the right of it, though. Lothíriel would not be happy to marry Prince Théodred, and that was not only because of the age difference. She would not want it because marrying the Crown Prince meant that one day, she'd be the Queen of Rohan. And Imrahil knew that was an idea Lothíriel would not be likely to welcome. Rohan was so far away... she would not want to leave her home behind, not for the sake of any crown on Middle-earth.

"Faramir-" Denethor began with no little displeasure, but Boromir disrupted him by speaking up.

"Father, I should say Faramir is right. Our little cousin would not fare well in such a marriage", said the elder of the Steward's sons. Though it was no secret whom Denethor favoured, there had never been any ill feelings between the two brothers.

"I am sorry, Master Metodlác, but I must agree with my nephews. I... she's my only daughter and I'd wish to see her wed a man whom she can love", Imrahil said slowly. "What of the noble ladies of your land? Does Théoden King have unmarried ladies in his family?"

"There is Lady Éowyn", said the Rohir reluctantly, "but she is out of question. She is needed in Rohan – she runs the King's household and my lord bear not part with her. And I must say she is not a woman to marry any man."

"What of the men of the House of Eorl, then? Surely Prince Théodred can't be the only one", Denethor asked, obviously not quite ready to give up this matter yet. Like the Prince feared, Metodlác nodded.

"There is Marshal Éomer. He is a young man, only 26 summers, but he is already a renowned rider and warrior. He is Théoden King's nephew and after Théodred, next in line to succession. Our King has tasked him with protecting the eastern parts of our realm – something which he has done most admirably, if I may say so", he said.

"Tell me more of this Marshal. What is he like?" Denethor asked, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.

"Lord Éomer is fierce and loyal. He and his sister were effectively brought up by Théoden King, for their parents died when they were children. He's not only one of the finest swordsmen in the Mark, but also a skilled leader in a battle. You will not find a more faithful man in all of Rohan. The Marshal is well-liked in the Riddermark", Metodlác answered.

"Well, my lord Imrahil? Does this Marshal of the Mark not sound like someone your daughter could grow to love? He sounds like a great man in making", Denethor commented, straightening up in his chair.

"But Father-" Faramir attempted; however, the Steward lifted his hand to silence his son.

"Quiet. This is not your business, Captain Faramir", said the Steward sternly, and his younger son fell back. The troubled look on Faramir's face did not disappear.

Imrahil looked from his brother-in-law to Master Metodlác, who was watching him attentively. Weighing his options, Prince sat silent. With some chagrin he realised he did not know what to answer.

"I... I must think on this, my lords. I fear I cannot answer this proposal so soon", he said at last and saw the flash of disappointment in Metodlác's eyes. It was understandable, really. The man had such high hopes for his realm and who could blame him?

"My lord, would you come and walk with me? I'd have a word in private", said Lord Denethor and rose up from his seat. He cast a look at his sons, "I trust you look after the good Master Metodlác while I speak with the Prince."

"Of course, Father", Boromir said, turning his attention on the Rohir. Before stepping out, Imrahil glanced briefly at Faramir; there was a pointed look on the young captain's face and its meaning was not lost to the Prince.

Once they were out, Lord Denethor assumed a slow pace, and for a moment they walked in silence. Imrahil waited for the older man to speak first, as he could tell the Steward had much to say. At last, Denethor began to speak.

"I understand this is a difficult decision for you, my friend. As a father myself, I do see it is a hard place to be both a parent and a prince. But despite what Faramir says, I hope you do consider this proposal very seriously", he said at last.

"But how can I say yes and give away my only daughter? The Rohirrim are our friends, yes, but their culture and their ways are different than ours. How would a fragile Gondorian rose fare in those cold winds of the north?" Imrahil asked. "When my wife lay dying, she pleaded me to take care of Lothíriel – to keep her safe and happy. And there is no guarantee she'll be so as a wife of a man of the Mark. Can you not choose any other woman?"

"I fear it must be her. A personal and familial alliance what is needed, to show that we hold our Northern allies in high esteem. No less than a princess will do. I'm not claiming this is an easy thing, Imrahil, nor do I blame you for your heavy heart. However, I would ask you to tread carefully. This wedding could just be what it takes for you to keep your word to your wife, for who knows what the future will bring us if we do not strengthen our lines? We need this alliance, my friend. We need the aid that the Rohirrim could provide should times become even more desperate than they already are. We _need _their spears and riders, Imrahil, and your daughter's hand in marriage is not a large price for that", Denethor said.

_Perhaps for you, it is not, _Imrahil thought to himself, but did not say it out loud. He sighed heavily.

"Denethor..." he started, not sure how to continue. "You would have me give my daughter in marriage to a man none of us has ever even met, and without her consent?"

"I'd ask you to do it for Gondor", said the Steward gravely. It was now his turn to sigh. "My friend, I truly hate to say this, but we do not have a choice. Lothíriel _must _marry one of these men. That is my word as the Steward of Gondor. However, I will leave it to you to choose which of these two men would suit her best. You are her father, so I imagine you'd know how to choose. And I would hope you make your choice quick, for we need to prepare. I do not know how much time we have left."

At the sight of Imrahil's expression, Denethor's face became slightly softer, and he rested a hand on the Prince's shoulder.

"Imrahil, I am truly sorry for this. Think of it this way: your daughter's marriage could save both Gondor and Rohan and all the free peoples of Middle-earth", he said quietly.

And really, what does a man answer to that?

* * *

The sun was making its descent towards horizon when Master Metodlác finally saw the houses of Aldburg before him. It was a welcome sight, for the journey had been long and he was not as young as he had once been. And as fine as the White City was, Metodlác would never have exchanged the land of his forebears to the stone palaces of south. His heart was here, in the soil of Rohan and under the wide blue sky over the plains.

And there was also the fact that in Aldburg, he saw so much more life than he had seen in Mundburg. There, people went about silent and ever vigilant, as if the shadow of the east smothered their very spirits. So, the smiling faces and the lively tones of Rohirric he heard as his company rode for the Marshal's House made him feel like home. Well, at least as close as it got without his wife Wyrðe, who waited for him in Edoras.

As they rode into the yard, it was Oferlof who came to welcome Metodlác and his company. That usually meant Marshal Éomer was not in residence... which was more often than not these days. Pushing himself as he pushed his men, the King's nephew seemed to have decided his éored would single-handedly take down all the orcs of Mordor. And who could blame him, after what those abominable creatures had done to his father and effectively to all of his family?

"Master Metodlác! Good to see you back", Oferlof called as the rider dismounted. They were about the same age and were friends as well, though these days it was not so often that Metodlác came to Aldburg.

"I'm glad to be home, friend. Those southern courts are not for me", he said with a smile as he surrendered his horse to a stableman. "I take it Lord Éomer is not home?"

"He's hunting orcs in eastern parts. I was hoping maybe you'd catch him on your way back. He should be back any day now", Oferlof answered. "You have important business with the Marshal?"

"Indeed I do. There's something very urgent I need to discuss with him, so I hoped I'd find him at home... Théoden King should be notified as well, and I'd rather not keep him waiting", Metodlác answered solemnly.

"I'm sure Lord Éomer will return soon", Oferlof reassured his friend. "Now. Come inside. There's supper and you lads look like you could use some."

Over the food, Metodlác told his friend news of Mundburg, but he did not speak of his mission or its outcomes. But Oferlof was no stupid man and he probably had his suspicions. Still, what agreement had been reached in Mundburg was not a story Metodlác wanted circling about before the Marshal and the King had heard of it.

They were just finishing their meal when the Marshal himself strode in, looking weathered and grimly satisfied as only a man who had slain a pack of orcs could. Judging by that, his hunting trip had been providential, which did not come to Metodlác as a surprise.

He had watched the Marshal grow from a gangly boy into a tall, fierce warrior. Clad in hauberk and plates of red-brown leather, he was a man of impressive presence, and looking at him, it was easy to see why his men followed him with such blind faith. Though times were... well, what they were, it was an encouraging thing to see that in the House of Eorl there was still such strength left.

Metodlác had also been there the day Théoden King had brought his sister-children to Meduseld. Éowyn had seemed scared and teary as she hid behind her brother's back, but Éomer's eyes had been dry. Rather, the strongest emotion Metodlác had sensed from the boy had been _anger. _

Most of his waking moments, the young son of Éomund had spent in battle training. Endlessly he'd practice his swordsmanship, his skills at throwing spears, and shooting arrows. And if he was not perfecting his fighting skills, he'd ride and learn all the finest tricks of a Rohirric rider. If the boy had planned on turning himself into an intricate war machine, that certainly was what he seemed to have achieved, and since his first ride he had proven his worth in countless battles. Yet even now, Metodlác could very well see that the anger he had seen in the boy's eyes was still in those of a man.

But dark times bred angry men, and there were times when Éomer son of Éomund was the angriest of them all.

"My lord Marshal", Metodlác greeted as the tall rider approached them.

"Master Metodlác", answered the King's nephew. "What tidings from Mundburg?"

"That is what I wished to speak of with you, my lord, if you have time", said the older man carefully.

"Nothing too bad, I hope?" Lord Éomer asked and pulled off his gloves, somehow managing to make it look like he'd jump back into the saddle if the old Rohir's words gave any reason to do so. Oferlof had said the Marshal ridden out with his men five nights ago, and he must have been about ever since; where the tall man's seemingly endless energy came from, Metodlác could not tell.

"No, not at all. But perhaps we could discuss it in private? It is rather important", he said. The Marshal nodded.

"Of course. Let me just get changed into something more comfortable, and we will speak", he answered.

It was less than a half an hour later that the two men were sat at the Marshal's private study. It was not too large and the amount of dust there would testify of how little it was used, but it did offer a place for private conversations such as this. With cups of ale on the front of them, Metodlác began to describe the happenings of late.

Truthfully speaking, it had not been entirely Théoden King's idea to send his adviser to Mundburg. Then again, Théoden did not really have many original ideas these days. Metodlác's trip had been more or less machinated by Prince Théodred and few men in Théoden's immediate vicinity who were still loyal to the Mark. With some subterfuge, Marshal Elfhelm had distracted Gríma Wormtongue for long enough so that the damned man could not interfere, and the precious instance had been used by Théodred, Erkenbrand and Metodlác to introduce the King an idea of marital alliance between Rohan and Gondor. As the King had been of good health that day and seemed more like his old self, he had agreed that Metodlác would leave for Gondor to find a bride for the Prince, and thus try and forge a new bond of allegiance.

The old Rohir had left the very same day and he had ridden fast, if only to make sure Gríma Wormtongue's scheming ways could not prevent _this _plan.

Only, in the end it all had turned out different than any of them would have thought. The perfect wife candidate had indeed been found: no woman of Gondor could have been better than the daughter of Prince Imrahil. As one of the highest ranking nobles of the land, Imrahil's House was powerful and closely related to the very family of the Steward of Gondor.

It had been such a good idea – even Lord Denethor had agreed. Because of this, Metodlác had not expected that Prince Imrahil would not be amenable, and for a while he had really been worried for how things would turn out. However, in the end an agreement had been reached.

"In short, Imrahil will consent to giving his daughter's hand in marriage... but not to Théodred. Because of this, it is you we now look at, for you are a member of the House of Eorl as well", he finished his explanations. Éomer had listened quietly and carefully to Metodlác as the older man had clarified what sort of agreement had been reached in Mundburg. His face never betrayed what he thought, not even as he spoke at last after being silent for a while.

"So I am expected to wed this reluctant princess", he stated at length. He did not meet the older Rohir's eyes but rather stared at his cup, which he held in his hand and stared at as if it held some great mystery.

"Yes. That is what we are hoping for", Metodlác answered. He sighed, "I know this comes as a complete surprise to you, and I understand if it is not to your liking. Believe me, I did not expect this either, for it was Théodred's marriage I was hoping to arrange. But you are the man Imrahil will give the hand of his daughter."

"Why is that? Why pick me?" asked the Marshal and finally looked up at his uncle's adviser.

"As far as I could understand, he did not particularly like the idea of the Princess marrying a man about twice her age. He was very concerned with her happiness", Metodlác answered.

"If he's so worried of his daughter's contentment, why marry her to a Marshal? My cousin could offer her a far richer life. She's a princess, after all, so I'd imagine the livelihood I can provide is not exactly what she's used to", Lord Éomer pointed out.

"I wondered about that as well", said the older man. "But Imrahil did not explain the reasoning behind his choice, other than to say that marrying someone she did not know would not be to her liking. He left for Dol Amroth about as soon as he had given his approval."

"Hmm. What is she like, this princess?" Lord Éomer asked, again turning to stare at his cup of ale.

"I spoke with her cousins – Lords Boromir and Faramir, both of whom seem to regard her almost like a little sister... Faramir at least was very protective of her and I could tell he wasn't so happy about the whole thing. Anyway, they say she is very pretty, dark-haired and grey-eyed like her kin. I asked for a portrait but it seems there were none in Mundburg, and Lord Denethor doubted one could be produced in time before the wedding. Also, it is said that the Prince's family has some Elven blood. I'm no judge of that, but the Prince himself, as his nephews, were all valiant men", Metodlác recited what he had heard. "Princess Lothíriel is... well, Faramir tells me that she is headstrong."

That made the Marshal snort.

"You think that is a problem? I've dealt with stubborn Rohirric women all my life. A headstrong princess would be nothing too new or unseen", he commented.

"That is true", Metodlác allowed, taking a sip of his ale. "But she's still a princess. She's different than our women and she will expect treatment unlike that of our women. Judging by her cousins' words, she can be difficult too. Faramir thinks she is sweet to those she loves, but she has her thorns and will not hesitate to prickle if she is displeased with something."

Lord Éomer sighed and rubbed his forehead. He glanced at the older man and the look in his dark eyes was tired.

"With all due respect, she sounds like something of a brat", he said dryly. "So now I'm expected to marry someone like that and fill yet another part of my life with noise and struggle I do not particularly wish for?"

That rather worried Metodlác. He had no idea of what to do if the Marshal said no. But then, technically the young man did have that right.

"Like I said, I understand if this is not to your liking. Believe me, I do. I don't take pleasure in asking you to do this, my lord, but... I do it because I fear for what the future will bring us. Rohan needs Gondor. In all this gathering dark, our friends are growing sparse while the enemy becomes stronger", said the old Rohir quietly. It was no news to Lord Éomer of course. As the Third Marshal of the Mark, he knew better than most of the darkening shadow.

And it was Metodlác's unpleasant duty to ask even more of this man, who had already given so much to his land and had not spared his strength or his blood to protect the realm and his people.

"There is also the matter of her dowry", Metodlác continued quietly. "She's a princess, after all, so I imagine a marriage to her would prove most beneficiary not only to yourself, but also to Aldburg. New livestock could be purchased, the defences strengthened. You are a smart man so I don't need to say more. With the princess as your wife, you'd establish permanent connections with one of the greatest Houses in all of the Western kingdoms. Not just on official level, but also on personal. They say Imrahil is a loyal and faithful ally, and he _is _a prince. There is much prestige in this marriage, if you'd consider it."

Lord Éomer did not answer at first. Instead, he busied himself with pouring more ale to their cups and then took a long sip as he contemplated the older man's words. Finally, he settled back in his chair and looked at Metodlác, and the look in his eyes was tired and yielding. One could have thought he was surrendering much more than just his status as an unmarried man. And who was Metodlác to tell? Perhaps it _was _a sacrifice for the Marshal.

"Fine. If that is what the Mark asks of me, then I will do it. My life belongs to Rohan anyway. I will marry this Princess, and I truly wish that it will be as beneficial as you say."

* * *

Lady Fainien was not having a particularly pleasant day. Well, to be honest, _no one _in Dol Amroth was having a nice day at the moment, not at least as far as the royal family was considered. This was in no small part thanks to Princess Lothíriel's current state of sulking.

Fainien had seen some very extensive explosions ever since she had married prince Erchirion. The family life of the House of Dol Amroth had a tendency to be noisy and even chaotic, and that was no wonder with personalities such as Lothíriel.

But she had never flared out quite like when her father returned from Minas Tirith with the news of impending marriage to a complete stranger – Fainien herself had heard her screams to the next level and she had been very happy that there had been an entire floor between them. Though apparently Imrahil had tried to explain there really was no other choice and that the Steward commanded it, Lothíriel had only seemed to get angrier with each passing moment. Finally, she had stormed out from her father's study and locked herself in her chambers, and no one had seen or heard her since. But the word of Imrahil's tidings had quickly spread, and her brothers had one at a time come to try and persuade her to come out. That had proved to be futile, and the exasperated Erchirion had come to ask his wife if she could talk with the outraged princess.

Lothíriel had been about as responsive to Fainien's attempts as she had been to her brothers and her father. So, the last weapon was now in the process of being readied. That weapon was, of course, Lady Aredhel.

Prince Elphir had married Lady Aredhel about ten years ago, at which time Lothíriel had been but a child. It had not been too long after Princess Celairiel, their mother, had died. Imrahil's little daughter had of course been devastated by the death of her mother, and so it had been a convenient time when Aredhel had joined the family. She had become something of a mother substitute or an older sister to the little princess, fulfilling the girl's need for a role model and a friend in the middle of a family that mostly consisted of men.

As such, there was a special relationship between the two, and Aredhel had always gotten to the stubborn girl like no one else could. But it took some time to get her to Lothíriel's chambers, as Aredhel was very pregnant – in fact it was expected she should give birth any day now – and moving was not too easy for her at the moment. Not to mention Elphir's insistence that she move as little as possible.

Fainien's thoughts were disrupted then as Amrothos came striding, wearing a troubled look that was so similar to the expressions his brothers had worn before that it was almost amusing even despite everything. Out of Imrahil's three sons, Amrothos was the most laid-back. Though his hair was rather curly than straight and his eyes were brown, he was most alike to the princess. But the princess was more hot-tempered and less carefree than Amrothos. Nevertheless, it was easy to see why it was Amrothos Lothíriel came along with the best.

"Any signs of our little dragon?" asked the prince.

"Nothing at all. I'm starting to think she may have escaped from her window and ridden somewhere no one can find her", said Erchirion from his place by the door, where he had sat on the ground ever since the princess had locked herself in.

"Hm. That sounds like something she'd do. If I were Father, I'd probably position guards under her window", Amrothos commented. Really, he wouldn't even have been too surprised to hear that Lothíriel had escaped.

"Well, it _is _big news that she got today. Anyone would be upset", Fainien pointed out.

"Yes, but you know Lothíriel. Father must have known that our sister would be furious", said the younger of two princes. "She's not really a marrying kind in my opinion anyway."

"But it's not like Father just decided from the top of his head to marry her off", Erchirion said. "You know our uncle as well as I do, and even our father doesn't tell Denethor _no_. Not to mention he does kind of have a point."

"And it is a Rohirric man she will be marrying", Fainien added. "They say it's different up north, the whole marriage thing. Perhaps it would be just what she'd need. She might be more at home there than she is here in Dol Amroth."

"Their idea of marriage could be the nicest thing in the world, but if the man himself is a git..." Amrothos said doubtfully. "What does anyone even know of this... this Marshal?"

Erchirion and Fainien shared a glance and they both shrugged.

"I don't think anyone of us really knows much about the Rohirrim. It's not like we often socialise with them these days. Really, all we know of the man Lothíriel is supposed to marry is what that messenger of King Théoden said", continued the younger prince.

"You think he'd lie?" Erchirion asked, but Fainien shook her head.

"I don't think they would. They famously say that you can't easily trick Rohirrim because they do not lie, and their eyes for deceit are keen", she said.

"But that still doesn't mean that our definition of a good man is one they share", Amrothos said.

Their conversation came to a halt then, as Aredhel appeared, accompanied by her worried-looking husband. Slowly they made – or wobbled – their way towards the chamber door that belonged to Princess Lothíriel. Sometimes, she seemed a bit out of place in the middle of the members of House of Dol Amroth, who generally were rather tall and slender. Aredhel herself was a bit shorter than average and she was curvy rather than thin. She had a lively face and her animated voice made up for a lot that she lacked in height.

Others had fallen silent, and quickly they watched as Aredhel finally stopped at the Princess' chamber door and knocked.

"Lothíriel? It is me. Would you let me come in?" she asked, her musical voice kind and persuasive.

And, perhaps as they should have expected, the door opened.

Aredhel could tell right away that her sister-in-law had cried. She had wiped the tears away and wore a brave and somewhat stubborn face, but she could not hide her bloodshot eyes. The older woman knew Lothíriel hated crying, and especially when people made note of it, so she paid no heed.

"Did you come to try and coax me to relent? Because I can tell you that I _won't. _No matter what my uncle has decided, I won't marry some stranger from a weird northern kingdom", Lothíriel announced in a voice that was probably meant to be full of finality.

"I just came to talk with you, my dear", Aredhel said gently, offering her sister-in-law a smile. "May I sit down?"

"Of course, of course. Forgive me, I should have thought of it right away. Here, come sit with me. Do you need help?" Lothíriel asked, hurrying to Aredhel's side.

They settled by the window, and once there, the older woman gave the other one a long, thoughtful look.

"What precisely makes you so angry about this situation?" Aredhel asked, and of course her question had the princess exploding again.

"What indeed! Oh, I wonder why I'd be upset and angry about my father selling me to the highest bidder like I was just some property – like my womb is the only thing that is valuable about me! It _really _is strange that I'd be angry that _no one asked me _if I want to marry some man I've never even met!" Lothíriel shrieked, but her anger was also somehow turning nearly hysterical now. Aredhel patiently waited for her to calm down and fall silent before speaking again.

"Lothíriel, we all know, and you do too, that it is not like that", she said gently as her sister-in-law sat across her, nostrils flaring and gasping for air. "Elphir tells me that your father was very upset about it as well. He did not deserve being shouted at, like you did. He has as little choice about this as you do yourself."

"And no, you're not being sold to the highest bidder. That would require your father and your uncle prancing about and calling for the men to come and auction for your hand. In fact, your brother tells me that it was the Rohirric King's idea in the first place to establish an alliance between the two kingdoms. That in itself is not a bad idea or an act of disdain towards you as a person. You, as the princess of Dol Amroth and one of the highest born women of Gondor, are the obvious choice", Aredhel said calmly, but she reached for Lothíriel's hand.

The younger woman was about to speak, but Aredhel continued before she could.

"As for your claims that you're not valuable as yourself... that is completely foolish, my dear. It is the very fact that you're so valuable that this marriage has been proposed. You're no being sold to anyone, Lothíriel. You are given the chance to _do good. _It depends largely on _your _good will and grace that this alliance will turn out prosperous. What is valuable about you is that your aid, and your kindness may very well bring together two peoples that have strayed far from each other. _You _are being trusted with a task no one else could possibly execute", she said gently. As usual, she had a way of taking away the worst edge of Lothíriel's anger, and her fury was turning cold quickly.

It did not mean she was pleased, though.

"But I still don't see what is so wonderful about marrying someone I've never even seen", she said, feeling frustrated. "Do you understand, Aredhel? I'm supposed to share my life with a stranger! Everyone expects me to trust him and _like him _and... and..."

She almost broke into tears at that. But Valar, it was scary!

"I understand, Lothíriel. I understand it better than you know", said her sister-in-law softly. "Or have you forgotten already that I came to your father's court as a stranger myself, and I was expected to marry someone I barely knew? Lothíriel, I know how you feel, and I understand that right now my words of comfort do not make it easier. Just like it didn't make it any easier for me when my own mother told me that I'd learn to love Elphir in time and that I would have to give him chance. But as much as hollow as those words sounded then, it turns out they were _right." _

"But it's not the same! I'm supposed to leave behind everyone I know and love and go to this strange country, and live as a wife to some Marshal who could be a complete brute for all I know..." Lothíriel sobbed, unable to hold back her tears. Clumsily, Aredhel moved so that they were side by side and wrapped her arms around the princess.

"I know you're scared", she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. "But perhaps it does not have to be so bad... you might end up finding another family in the north. Just like I found a family here by the sea, Lothíriel. Give this man a chance. If it turns out that he is not the man they say he is, I'm sure your father will do everything in his power to protect you from him."

"I don't want to go. I don't want to marry him", Lothíriel mumbled, but Aredhel could sense the younger woman's resistance faltering.

"It's all right", she said, stroking her sister-in-law's hair gently. "You know, this Marshal is probably just as worried as you are."

"You really think that?" Lothíriel asked, resting her head on Aredhel's shoulder.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Elphir told me that it was Prince Théodred who would have wedded you if Father Imrahil had given his consent", said the brown-haired woman. "This Lord Éomer might understand your feelings better than you might guess. If you ask me, I'd imagine he's just an ordinary man... and at the moment, he's doubtlessly very worried for the fact that he is supposed to marry a fine, foreign princess."

The Princess lifted her head and looked at her sister-in-law with narrowed eyes.

"How do you do it, Aredhel?" she asked, which made the other one lift her eyebrows.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Make me feel like I'm a 10-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. I always wonder how you're able to do it so easily", she said and then looked away; Aredhel realised it was because she didn't want her brother's wife seeing her embarrassment.

"Oh, don't say that. You were just upset, and you have every right to feel so", said the older woman, smiling gently. She rested a hand on Lothírel's arm. "Now, would you like to come with me and seek out your father? I feel we should talk about this calmly – especially so that he can explain you everything. I'm sure he'd like to speak with you."

Lothíriel sighed and nodded, knowing that her sister-in-law was just as right about this as she usually was about most of the things.

"Fine. We'll talk."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_May 3017, Minas Tirith_

The light blue gown was not much finer than the rest of her clothes. It was made of velvet and its long, wide sleeves were of thin lace, but otherwise it only hinted the grandeur some Gondorian women were married with. However, Lothíriel herself had demanded that her wedding gown be nothing too extravagant. Like the ceremony itself would be, so would she dress simply.

After all, it was no king that she was marrying, and she did not think he'd appreciate her parading about like she thought herself something important.

She had yet to meet her future husband, though. As it had been agreed, the wedding would take place in Minas Tirith: that was according to her Father something like a middle ground to signify the symbolic nature of this marriage (it was scary how much he sounded like Lord Denethor when he said that, and no doubt it was something the Steward himself had said). The celebrations would be small at best and the attendees would consist of her family, her uncle and his sons, and what high nobility happened to be in residence. The Marshal would probably travel with a small retinue, so the Rohirric guests would likely be men who rode with him. Once the deed was done, they'd stay in the White City for few days... and then, the great unknown awaited them.

That was what terrified Lothíriel the most. She had no idea of what to expect, how she would be received, or even what kind of place it was she'd go with her future husband. It was precisely that at the moment which had her constantly hesitating and thinking that she'd say no, she would not become a wife to this man.

As she fingered the sleeve of the gown absently, she wondered for the hundredth time why she had ever agreed to do this. Oh, yes: it was because Aredhel had gotten to her, like the older woman always did. She did not blame her sister-in-law, because she knew the older woman only meant well. Somehow, Aredhel had made it sound like Lothíriel was actually doing something worthwhile, that she was making a difference. But how could that be true? It did not change the truth, after all. For the truth _was _that she was about to marry a stranger and somehow everyone was convinced that it was _a good thing. _How was she supposed to improve the relations between Gondor and Rohan when she had no idea of how she'd even receive her husband-to-be?

"Oh, Valar", she moaned to herself and threw herself on her bed. Currently, she was residing in the palace, in the very room where she'd also spend her wedding night (though that was something she tried not to think of). Apparently her uncle thought she should stay here instead of the house that belonged to her father. Uncle Denethor had given her a big speech about how she was now on the threshold of something great, and how she was leaving behind her childhood et cetera, and then he had given her a firm look that suffered no arguments. At that point she had just been subdued and she had not really found it in herself to argue, so she had let the servants take her to the chambers that had been prepared for her and the Marshal.

_Marshal Éomer. _When she pictured him, all she could see was some yellow-haired brute who was eagerly rubbing his ungentle hands together and waiting for when he got to bed the delicate Gondorian princess. The idea filled her with such revulsion that she wanted to run for the wild, screaming as she went.

Hands squeezing into fists, she rolled to her side and ground her teeth. _Father, why do you make me do this? _But then, she knew she couldn't blame him. Aredhel had been right to say that he was upset about this as well. When Lothíriel had stopped to actually look, she had seen the expression on her dear father's face, and she finally understood how it hurt him to send her to a foreign land and an unknown fate. Her father was just as powerless as she was.

The tears threatened to pour out once again, but luckily there was a knock on the door then, and Aredhel's voice called: "Lothíriel? May I come in?"

"Of course", she answered and sat up, taking deep breaths in an attempt to push the tears away. Her sister-in-law entered the chamber, wearing that same empathetic smile that was on her face most of the time these days. She was finally starting to get back some colour and Lothíriel noted she looked stronger as well. The birth of little Alphros had not been the easiest, and Elphir had tried to convince his wife to stay in Dol Amroth. But she had insisted on coming along and nothing had managed to change her mind.

"Hello, sister", Aredhel greeted her and came to sit beside the younger woman. She cast a look at the pale blue gown that was hanging nearby, as if a flag of doom. She looked back to the Princess, "How are you feeling?"

Lothíriel shrugged.

"I'm contemplating going into hysterics and throwing myself out of the window", she joked weakly. The older woman looked at her in concern.

"Lothíriel..." she started gently, but the princess quickly interrupted her.

"It's fine. I'll be all right", she said, though she wasn't so sure it was true – perhaps it would be, if she repeated it enough. Aredhel wrapped her arms about Lothíriel and hugged her tight.

"You're very brave, sister", she said softly.

"I don't think so", said the younger woman. "I'm scared, Aredhel."

"I know, Lothíriel", Aredhel murmured, stroking her hair and holding her in a way one's mother might have.

"It's too late to turn back now, isn't it?" Lothíriel asked quietly. She could not hide the weakness in her voice, and sweet Elbereth, how she wished that her sister-in-law might have told her otherwise! But she saw the look in Aredhel's eyes, and she knew she had to walk this path.

"Yes. I fear it is so", said her brother's wife. She rested a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder, "It'll get easier. Not right away, perhaps, but in time it will. I promise."

Lothíriel sighed and nodded, not sure how much of those words was just comfort and how much was truth. She had no idea of how it could get easier.

"Now, it is late. Try and have some rest", Aredhel said and got up.

"Has there been any sign of _them _yet?" asked the princess warily.

"Not yet. Perhaps the Marshal will arrive tomorrow", her sister-in-law said. She patted Lothíriel's shoulder, "Go to sleep, dear sister."

"Mm. Yes. Good night", mumbled the younger woman, and Aredhel quietly exited the bedchamber. When she was gone, silence fell in the room again, and Lothíriel wandered over to the window.

The city was quiet and the night was falling. Maybe as soon as tomorrow her husband-to-be would arrive... and the wedding would be held, and her life would be irrevocably tied to that of a stranger.

Lothíriel stood by the window for a long time, staring out into the night. The passage of time also turned her heart heavier and heavier, until it felt like there was a rock in her chest that painfully hammered against her breast. This time it did not induce tears, however, but a grim certainty of what she had to do.

Uncle Denethor may very well conjure his little schemes, but she did not have to play along. _No. _Perhaps there was a chance for her... perhaps she could seize her own fate, if she so wanted.

She could try, at least.

* * *

It was well past midnight that she tiptoed into the stables. The citadel was silent as ever and she had only seen couple of guards on her way; she had hidden behind some pillars and so she had been able to come here unnoticed.

Lothíriel knew it was a dangerous and probably also a foolish thing that she was about to do. Riding out all alone in the middle of night was not something a young, unarmed woman should do... and in all honesty, she had no idea yet of how she'd smart her way through the City gate. However, Lothíriel was reassuring herself that she'd come up with something. She'd think of that once she got that far.

And even if she was caught... well, it might just convince her uncle that she was about the worst choice for a bride. Surely the Marshal wouldn't appreciate it either, would he? He'd demand to have someone else, and she could go home and forget about this all.

Clutching her bundle of clothes and food to her chest, she walked past the stalls: if she hoped she'd even reach the bottom level tonight, she'd have to ride a horse. As she did not have one of her own here in Minas Tirith, she'd have to steal a steed. That was what she disliked about the whole thing the most, but it couldn't be helped. Hopefully she would be able to make up for that later.

She stopped by a large grey stallion. It was arguably the most impressive horse she had ever seen, but the look it gave her had the princess immediately moving forwards. A steed with a look so foul would only mean trouble and she wondered who could possibly own such an animal – unless his owner was just as foul.

But then Lothíriel saw the mare, and all thoughts of ill-tempered stallions left her. The animal was beautiful, and her coat was so dark it looked black, with a white sock on each feet. The princess knew right away she was the one and she'd have given anything to have the mare for herself instead of just borrowing her. Pulling an apple from her bundle, she carefully began to approach the animal and spoke in quiet Sindarin to keep her calm. The mare watched her curiously and eagerly accepted her gift; grinning to herself, Lothíriel petted the horse's neck. But Elbereth, this animal was beautiful! She had not known the Steward had such horses in his stables.

The mare gently scrabbled at her hand in the hopes of another treat, but she couldn't really shower the animal with her supplies. Quickly enough, she found a saddle for the horse. She picked it up and made her way back towards the stall when suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder.

Lothíriel acted more out of an instinct than thought. She dropped the saddle and grabbed the dagger on her waist – she had "borrowed" it from the armoury back in Dol Amroth. She leapt around and lifted the weapon to threat whoever it was behind her.

He moved just as fast as she did, jumping back at the sight of her dagger. Actually, it was surprising just how fast he moved, given the sheer size of the man. He must have been well over 6 feet tall and on the top of that, he was wide-shouldered and strongly built. Even in the dim light of the stables, the princess could see he was not a Gondorian man. His fair hair and his clothes marked him as one of the Rohirrim. His eyes were dark and alert and he looked at her in confusion.

"Before you stick that blade of yours in me, might I at least know why are you stealing a horse?" he asked in fluent Westron; she could not even hear an accent in his speech. Deciding he was no threat, she sheathed the dagger again.

"What makes you think I'm stealing it?" she asked quickly, trying to come up with something to distract this man and get rid of him. She really did not have a time for this now, and she did not want him raising an alarm. Her question made him lift his eyebrows.

"Just the fact that I know this horse belongs to the Third Marshal of the Mark, and I am fairly sure he did not intend anyone to take it away in the middle of night", he said, studying her face intently.

_Damn. _What should she say now? Of course the horse would be one of theirs – she should have known the moment she saw the mare. Gondorians just did not have steeds of that quality. And the Rohirrim valued their horses beyond anything, so it did not seem so likely that the Marshal would receive the news of her attempted theft too kindly.

"Fine. I'll leave his precious horse", Lothíriel said and lifted her chin. Perhaps confidence was the way about this.

"But you intend to just move to the next horse, don't you?" asked the insufferable man.

"That is none of your business. Now if you'd excuse me", she said and tried to push past him, but he cut her way by stepping on the front of her.

"I do believe it is, if you are in the mind of stealing horses", he told her.

"Let me pass", Lothíriel demanded and tried to step past him, but again he moved to block her way.

"Not before you tell me who you are and what this is about", said the Rohir patiently, and she could tell he wouldn't let her go before she had given him a satisfactory answer. At least it was starting to look like he wasn't going to call the guards.

"I'm just someone who is trying to choose her own path", she mumbled quietly. He was silent for a while, but all the while he watched her. She noted his eyes were very vivid and intense. When he looked at her like that, she felt trapped somehow... and like he were staring into her soul.

"I do not understand why you'd choose the one that would make a criminal out of you", he pointed out.

"I'd make up for it later. I just don't have a choice now – not when _they _are making me do something I can't", she said. Her voice was sadder than she had intended, which made her feel embarrassed. She had not meant to tell this man any sob stories.

"They? Who is making you do and what?" he asked curiously.

"My family, of course. Who else? Everyone says it's for the greater good, but what about my good? I don't _want _to be anyone's pawn, not in this game", she ranted angrily and grimaced.

"We're all pawns in someone's game", said the tall Rohir and she couldn't really tell what the colour of his voice was. If he empathised with her, she couldn't tell. He frowned, "And not many have the chance of delivering others."

"So you think I'm bad and selfish for not being strong enough to take that road? That I have no right to be scared out of my mind?" Lothíriel asked, her voice rising as her frustration and anger threatened to take over again. But then she realised shouting would only alarm the guards and that was not something she wanted. And anyway, it wasn't like this man was to be blamed for her situation.

He watched her quietly, and suddenly he looked sad and weary. However, his voice was not forgiving.

"What makes you think the right choice should ever be easy or light one?" he asked; the look of sadness passed from his face and his features became hard.

"I just..." Lothíriel tried, but found she could not find words. "I'd just like to know _why me." _

He laughed, but the sound was bitter and sharp.

"Because fates are not kind and I can assure you that they will be even less so if you start stealing things that don't belong to you. Now, I'd suggest you return to your family and fulfil your duty to them, unless you want to pay for your freedom with your life... which is surely what will happen to you if ride you alone into the night. Do not be so naïve as to think yours is the only sad fate in this world", he said and finally, he stepped aside to make her way.

Lothíriel did not know why, but that was what finally broke her spirit. Tears burning her eyes, she grabbed her bundle against her chest and ran out, and she only stopped when she was back in her chamber. There, she fell down on the bed and she cried until there were no more tears to be shed.

* * *

Originally, the plan had been to make camp and spend the night by road, but as they had made such fast journey that day and Mundburg was so close, Éomer decided it would have been waste of time to settle down one more time when they could reach the White City this night. That meant more comfortable lodgings among the other things, and so they had ridden until nightfall.

He had never seen Mundburg before. True, it was an impressive sight, standing tall and proud and facing the east as if in a challenge. But as his éored rode closer and entered the city, he could not help but notice the silence and the heaviness. It was a cold city, he thought to himself: foreign and somehow unwelcoming. And then there was the shadow, always looming in the east.

Despite himself, he wondered if the bride he had come for would be like that as well.

Their arrival was evidently expected, as they were allowed to ride through each of the city's many gates. Still, he took note of incredulous faces of those who were still up and about in this hour, and Éomer knew the reason for those looks. It was not often that the Rohirrim visited here, and especially not in such large quantities.

The reception was friendly, though. Lord Denethor himself bid them welcome to the White City, and Éomer was then introduced to the Steward's sons. Boromir and Faramir were tall and their looks had strength, just like their father. Boromir's warm greetings might have one believing he was receiving a family member who had been long gone, but Faramir's manners were cooler; Éomer thought he even saw something like spite in his eyes, but he couldn't tell for sure.

Then another man came forward, followed by three younger ones. They were introduced as Prince Imrahil and his sons Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos. Though the Prince had kindly look about his face, Éomer still felt slightly uncomfortable – especially when he noted the unhappy look in the man's eyes and those of his sons. Well, he had known beforehand the Prince was not the greatest supporter of his daughter's impending marriage, but now the Marshal was starting to feel it would be a very poor idea to get to this man's bad side... and especially the three princes, who all stood tall as trees.

Once the introductions were done, he asked if his wife-to-be was around, but with an apologetic smile, Lord Denethor said she had already retired for bed. So the meeting would have to wait for the next day... and the day after that, the wedding would take place.

_Oh, Béma. _What trouble was he getting himself into?

His riders were given lodgings in the barracks, and though the Steward tried to offer him chambers in the palace itself, Éomer said he'd be happy to stay with his men. So, after bids of good night the riders had been escorted to barracks. Food was brought and the men had settled down to enjoy some well-deserved rest after their journey from Aldburg.

As for the Marshal himself, as soon as he had made sure his men were comfortable and he had taken off his armour, he had slipped out to look around for a bit and perhaps pay a visit to his horse Firefoot. Though he knew food might have served him well too, he found he did not really have appetite. Ever since they had ridden into the city, a knot had been forming in his stomach and the very thought of food made him vaguely nauseous.

And the confrontation in the stables did not really make him feel much better. Whoever that girl was, he oddly felt like looking at a younger version of himself. Though he had made it his mission to live and die for the Mark, it would have been a lie to say that Éomer did not have his moments of doubt sometimes... he could understand how tempting the idea of running away was. And the look on her face, when she heard those last words of him... it was like her heart was broken right there. He almost ran after her, but something froze him on the spot. Nevertheless, he left the stables with a bitter heart.

Éothain was still up and about when Éomer returned the barracks, and of course he'd notice that something was bothering the younger man. He was that curious breed that was able to perfectly merge his roles both as a captain and as a friend – in fact, Éomer had no rider that was more loyal, nor a friend that was better.

"What is it?" Éothain asked in quiet voice, though most of the men were already settling for rest or preoccupied by their suppers and thus weren't likely to listen to them speak.

"Just... everything", sighed the Marshal as he sat down on the bunk he had chosen for himself. Éothain sat across him so they could talk in peace.

"Maybe it won't be so bad", said the captain. "Who knows? She might be the sweetest thing to ever walk the plains of the Mark."

"You really think this could really turn out so good?" Éomer asked.

"Give it a chance, old friend. Good things rarely come to those who won't even try", Éothain pointed out.

"Hmm. You're probably right", said the younger man. He looked up at his captain, "What do you think she's like?"

A vaguely dubious expression came to Éothain's face, and like usually when he was deep in thought, he stroke his short reddish beard.

"Well, she's a princess. I've never seen a princess – except your mother, bless her soul. But I have no idea if Gondorian princesses are the same. What are they even like?" he mused. "If she's even half the woman your lady mother was, then I'd say you're one lucky fellow."

Éomer grunted non-committally and stared down at his hands. Calloused and large they were, and he worriedly thought if they were too coarse for this princess. When he thought of princesses, particularly the Gondorian sort, he saw delicate and fragile shapes that could be broken by a single harsh touch.

"She's probably cultured in ways we don't even understand. She'll have lived in a beautiful castle by the sea and Aldburg will probably seem no better than a barn to her. She'll hate it, and she'll hate the Mark", he said quietly.

"Oh, stop that already. There's no reason this can't be _a good thing", _Éothain said and patted his Marshal's shoulder. "Now, go and get some rest. And practice your smiles, if you would be so kind. There's no good reason why you should brood and frown when you meet your future wife tomorrow. I'd think she'll appreciate a smiling man more than a sour one."

"Hmph. Perhaps I'll introduce you to her, then", Éomer said and rolled his eyes, but his words only managed to make his captain chuckle. Éothain slapped his arm, stood up and sauntered to his own bunk.

Sighing to himself, the Marshal lay down on his bed – which was apparently made for smaller men than him, as his feet dangled over the edge. Well, he'd vacate this place only for two nights, and then...

Then he'd be a married man.

_Princess Lothíriel. I wonder what you are like, and if you are as scared as I am... _

* * *

On that morning, Lothíriel had breakfast with Aredhel, Fainien and Faramir. It had been agreed that the formal introductions would take place at midday, so there was still plenty of time left for last minute panic attacks. Because of that, Lothíriel was immensely grateful for the presence of her sisters-in-law and also her cousin. He had always been close to her, though they did not see each other too often these days.

At first, mundane things were discussed over the breakfast, and Lothíriel knew it was the others' attempts to make her feel better and help her keep calm. She appreciated it of course, but at the same time it made her feel sad: too soon she'd have to part with these people and she had no idea of when she'd even see them again.

However, finally she could not keep the question inside her anymore, and the princess asked Faramir: "Were you there last night when the Marshal arrived?"

He nodded solemnly, putting down his spoon.

"Indeed I was. I thought maybe I should have come to wake you, but they seemed tired as well... it's probably for the better if you meet him rested and prepared", Faramir answered.

"So you saw _him _too?" Lothíriel asked – she couldn't bring herself to say the man's name. Aredhel and Fainien looked at him with similar looks of curiosity.

"Yes, I did", he confirmed quietly.

"Tell me about him. What did you think?" she wanted to know.

"Well, it is hard to evaluate a man after seeing him so briefly", Faramir said carefully and stared down at his plate. After a short silence, he began to speak again, "He's very tall and I see what Master Metodlác meant when he said that this Marshal is considered a great warrior – even as I looked at him, I thought I wouldn't want to meet him in a battle. He has that light hair of their people and he sports a beard."

"But can't you tell what kind of man he is? Did he look like... like a brute?" Fainien demanded; she cast a look at Lothíriel as if to see if that question had upset her. However, it was something the Princess herself wanted to know too.

"Like I said, it's hard to tell. It's not easy to see if man harbours darkness in himself, for the shadow comes in many forms... I don't know. I suppose he doesn't seem like a bad fellow. Perhaps he was kind of grim. But he had honest eyes, if sharp", Faramir said and shrugged.

"What do you mean by sharp?" Lothíriel asked, a frown forming on her face.

"You'll see for yourself soon enough. I suppose... you could call him intense. _Intimidating. _Yes, that is what he was", Faramir answered.

The women looked at each other. Now Lothíriel was starting to feel just a bit worried. What kind of a man was she about to marry? The last thing she wanted was to be scared of him, but Faramir's words made her feel this Marshal could be just so terrifying.

Aredhel seemed to know what she was thinking, and the older woman placed her hand on Lothíriel's. She smiled gently, "I'm sure it'll be fine. He knows you're a princess and he'll treat you like one. He's of a royal house himself, after all."

"I hope you're right", Lothíriel said quietly. Her voice came out strained, which of course did nothing to soothe away the troubled look on Faramir's face.

That was likely why he asked her to come out for a walk after they had finished their breakfast. As it was still early in the morning, the Princess decided she could spare some time for her cousin. In fact, she was fairly certain she _needed _it.

Despite the age gap, Faramir had always been as close to her as one of her brothers. When he had been younger, he had been a regular visitor in Dol Amroth – especially after Aunt Finduilas, Faramir's mother, had died. While Lothíriel's relationship with her siblings had been of playful sort, and sometimes tumultuous, Faramir was like the wise and experienced brother.

Once outside in the garden, they walked for a while in silence. The royal gardens were beautiful and immaculately looked after. It was peaceful there, as if the many concerns of the world did not even exist.

At last, Faramir looked at her: his eyes were gentle and empathetic. Lothíriel almost wanted to ask him not to look at her like that, because it made her want to cry.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I just... I suppose at this point I'm just starting to become numb. And a growing part of me just wants to get it all done already", she said at length. "What's the point in fighting back, anyway?"

"I tried to tell Father it's not a life you'd want, but no matter what I said, he wouldn't listen. I'm sorry that I couldn't help you more than that", Faramir said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She offered him a weak little smile.

"No matter. I'm still grateful that you did try", she said softly, and her face turned into a grimace. "It's more than my father did at least."

"He had as little choice as you do", said her cousin. He stared somewhere off for a moment and fell silent. When he looked at her again, his smile was encouraging. "Not many women would be able to do this, cousin. I'm not sure I could do it, if I was sent to another country. It's a brave thing you're doing, Lothíriel."

"There's nothing else left now, is there?" Lothíriel said and answered the smile, though she didn't think her expression was too happy. "Truth be told, I did consider running away. I almost did it – last night, I got as far as the stables."

Faramir's expression was not surprised, nor was it judgemental.

"What stopped you?" he asked. The Princess shrugged.

"One of the Marshal's men. Or fate, I don't know. It's starting to look like I can't avert this path", she said, her voice quiet. She looked down and sighed.

"Would you like to tell me what happened?" Faramir asked gently.

Lothíriel hesitated at first, but then she began to speak, explaining how she had sneaked into the stables and how the rider from Rohan had caught her in the act of stealing one of the Marshal's horses. When she recited the man's words about one's duty, Faramir squeezed her shoulder again; she could see the sympathy in his eyes and it was somehow almost painful.

"It's all right, cousin. I'll be fine", she said softly, managing to give him a smile.

"I hope you will, Lothíriel", he said and hugged her tight. "And if that Marshal ever does anything to make you unhappy..."

"You'll be the first to hear. I promise", she mumbled into her cousin's shoulder, and for the moment she felt something like calm.

* * *

From behind the columns, she saw him.

He stood alone in the Tower Hall – the great chamber where the throne of the king was located. In the middle of all the white and black stone, he looked strangely vibrant with his golden hair and his green clothing. In the broad daylight and in the great hall, he didn't seem as large as he had looked like last night in the dimly lit stables. But that was not to say he was a small man.

What was one of the Marshal's men doing here now? Lothíriel would have thought he'd be with the other riders. But then, she wasn't supposed to be here either – not yet, at least. But as she was already dressed and ready, she had found it impossible to just sit waiting in her chambers. Like she had told her cousin, at this point she just wanted it all to be over already.

After observing the Rohir for a moment, she noticed he wasn't just standing about. He was gesturing with his hands, he swayed on his heels, and then he bowed at the empty air. At first Lothíriel thought he must be touched in the head to behave so, but then she realised this man was not some crazy person. Instead, he looked a lot like her father when the Prince was going through some of his speeches. Oh, Elbereth. Was the Marshal going to make them listen to some rider of his making grand orations? If so, he must be a pompous man. No wonder Lord Denethor was so enthusiastic about this all.

Thinking of that, Lothíriel couldn't hold back a small chuckle. In the large hall, the sound echoed of course and alerted the golden-haired rider. He turned around sharply, and instantly his dark eyes found her between the columns. She thought she saw surprise in his eyes, but then his expression turned solemn once again.

"I did not realise I had an audience", he commented at the sight of her.

"Well, it's not exactly the most private place in Minas Tirith", Lothíriel pointed out and stepped out into the open from where she had stood behind the columns. A weak smile appeared on his face briefly.

"No. I suppose not", he agreed, studying her again with that intense look that seemed to drill through her skull. "I did not think I'd meet you again after last night."

"Why not?" Lothíriel asked, finding it hard to turn her eyes away. Something about the way he watched her was mesmerising and it was certainly something she wasn't used to. Did all the Rohirrim live with such passion that even in stillness their spirits burned like flames?

"It seemed to me that someone who was ready to sneak away in the dark and even to steal a horse to win her freedom would not stop because of what some stranger said", said the rider.

"But you were right", said the Princess softly. "Whatever I might wish for myself, I do have duty for my family... and my country."

He frowned at that, which made his face darken; she remembered what Faramir had said of the Marshal and idly she thought to herself if all Rohirric riders were scary people. Not that she was scared of this man per say, but she had a feeling he could be terrifying if he wanted.

"Your country? I beg your pardon, but what duty of yours is that large?" he asked.

She stared at him and said a single word: "Marriage."

The rider's eyes widened, and his face became astonished and even somehow shocked. Suddenly, he looked like he really _saw _her only now: his eyes moved up and down from her head to her feet and though he was tanned, it looked like he lost a bit of his colour. It was now her turn to frown.

"What is it?" she asked and she could not hold back the demanding tone in her voice.

"My lady", he said at last, and his voice had become reserved. "Forgive me. I did not realise-"

But he did not get to say what he hadn't realised, for Boromir had strode in, filling the space with his curiously loud presence.

"Lothíriel! There you are. Your father was looking for you, and-" he began, until suddenly he noticed the Rohir who now stood frozen, staring at the two of them with something that she could only call suffering. However, Boromir did not seem to take note of it. "My lord Marshal! I did not know you were here too with the Princess. Well, I suppose this makes the introductions unnecessary, then..."

Lothíriel did not hear the rest of his words, for she stood silent, just as frozen as the tall Rohir did.

_Lord Éomer. **Of course.**_

_Oh, sweet Valar have mercy._

* * *

**A/N: **Who needs sleep when there are stories to be written?! Not I, at least!

So, our reluctant bride and bridegroom have met each other... but under the circumstances neither of them would have expected. I must say, I'm enjoying this story way too much at the moment and really look forward to writing more.

Hope you enjoyed this update, and thanks for the reviews!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The day of wedding was met with bright sunshine and in the air, there was the smell of summer. Altogether it was oddly in contradiction with the heavy mood that would not leave the Third Marshal of the Mark.

The last day's so called introductions had been uncomfortable and uneasy. The Princess had seemed determined not to meet his eyes again if she could help that, and Éomer had felt equally unwilling to do so – he tried to tell himself it was because of her reaction. His harsh words of the previous night had come to him and he had felt intensely embarrassed. His sense of right and wrong had told him to apologise, but there had not been even one private moment when he could have done so. Furthermore, he had a feeling that even if there had been, she'd just have escaped as fast as possible. And so the Marshal had been left with his chagrin and regret, and the prospect of wedding had made him feel even more reluctant than before.

How he had endured through the day, Éomer was not so sure. The formal meals and socialising had called for patience and strength of character he had not known he possessed. It was not made much better when his men, eyes alight with awe, said he was lucky to be wedded to a beauty such as her.

Well, she was beautiful, he supposed. Her colouring, dark and pale and grey, was of course foreign compared to what he was used to. And it was easy to see that she _was _a princess, from her mannerisms and the way she moved and carried herself. She had the same slender build as her brothers, though her curves very clearly marked her as a member of the fairer sex. However, it was in her expressions, in her movements, in her eyes that which captured his attention. Éomer couldn't tell why it was and how she did it, but she was mesmerising. When she thought no one saw, she revealed herself with such genuineness that he couldn't help but stare.

But then she'd turn to look at him, that look would disappear, and the expression in her eyes would discourage him and make him feel like he was watching something very private. He'd remember that though she might be beautiful, she was also so against marrying him that she had almost run away. That was something he had yet to speak of with her. What their confrontation in the stables made her feel, Éomer could not tell.

On the night before the wedding, he managed to catch very little sleep. In half it was because his men insisted on a bachelor party, and half because the Marshal was too restless for rest. So he had lain in his bunk, listening to his riders snore away their intoxication. At least he had been able to make them understand that no excessive drunkenness would be tolerated. The last thing he wanted was putting off his new wife and her family with a bunch of riders suffering from hangover.

The morning had come all too soon. He had gone out for a ride as the wedding would take place at the afternoon, and flying over the plains towards west he had almost been able to forget what was going to take place. When he had returned, Éothain tried to make him eat some breakfast and the captain had sounded like some overly stubborn wife while doing that. A bit of bread was all Éomer could make himself swallow, and then a servant had come to announce that his bath was ready. It had been prepared in one of the guest rooms, and the Marshal had let himself be escorted into a light room where a large tub filled with steaming water was waiting. He had scrubbed himself furiously to the point where his skin was red and raw, and still the stench of horses and chain-mail seemed to fill his nose. He had washed his long hair too, though he knew it would take a while to dry. But he'd be damned if he'd be presented to his bride today while smelling of horses.

After bath, he had dressed slowly, as if that would somehow have helped in postponing the things that were due to happen today. He had decided his beard could do use some trimming, and he was just about to start that task when Éothain had more or less barged in and informed he'd take care of that. It was probably a good thing because concentrating on something which required a precise hand did not seem too good idea at the moment.

As most of his time was spent in waging war, armour was what Éomer usually wore. Sometimes he'd wear his heavy gear so long that he'd start to forget how it felt without the layers of armour on him. As such, he didn't own a large or varied garderobe: most of his clothing consisted of things that he could easily wear under the hauberk, the leaf mail and red-brown plates. And they were not as a rule things one would put on one's wedding day.

Mistress Bierwén, the chatelaine of the Marshal's household, had informed him that he would not get married in his armour or the "rags" (her choice of words) he usually wore when he was not wearing the warlike gear. Nostrils flaring, she had lectured him while she had him stand for the seamstresses to take his measures for a wedding coat: "It is a good thing you're marrying a proper princess. Maybe she can teach you to try and appear more like the King's nephew and less like some wild bear from the forest."

Now he was finally wearing the result of that tremendously unpleasant afternoon. Well, it was not an ugly thing he wore now. Made of dark green fabric, the coat was knee-length and had elaborate embroidery of golden knotwork at hems, collar and sleeves. He was fairly sure it was the grandest thing he had ever worn or ever would.

But no matter how much he stared at his reflection in the mirror, he did not turn into a dashing Gondorian nobleman. Instead, the same stern old face stared back at him. Oh, how wild and strange he must have looked like to her! He was no prince for this princess.

"What are you brooding about now?" Éothain asked as he returned to the chamber from his brief visit outside. He was balancing yet another tray of food on his one hand and _the _cloak on his left arm. Had Éomer not known what steady hands his captain had, he might have feared for the cloak getting soaked with food. The older man continued, "That is no face for anyone to wear on their wedding day."

"Shut it, Éothain", said the Marshal and turned to pour himself some wine (some helpful soul had provided him with an entire pitcher). It wasn't really the same thing as the ale and mead they made back in his home, but it would have to do.

"Is it about the Princess? Éothain asked and placed the tray on a table nearby. "Don't you like her? I thought she's very pretty."

"She's beautiful, yes", he sighed quietly. "Even more so than I imagined. But she doesn't seem to be too willing to marry me... and I feel like I'm forcing her to do something she abhors."

"Don't be foolish, old friend", said the captain calmly and sat down to watch the Marshal. "Have you even stopped to consider that you are in this _with _her? She's an ally, not your enemy. If I should guess, she expected this marriage to happen as little as you did."

He picked up an apple from the tray and took a bite of it. Mouth full of fruit, he continued, "Gife hef a chanfe, Éofer."

"And you shouldn't speak while you're eating. I thought Scýne had already uprooted that trait from you", said the Marshal and sat down across his friend.

"What, are you going to tell her when we get home?" Éothain asked once he had swallowed his mouth empty.

"I just might", Éomer said and rolled his eyes, taking a mouthful of his wine.

"You know, you'd do well if you tried to eat something. You don't want to end up fainting in the middle of the ceremony, like the poor Silfbár did in his", said his captain, and then the older man gave him a pointed look, "Or drunk."

"Hmph. You know it takes a lot of ale to make me drunk. A glass of wine is hardly going to do anything", snorted the Marshal. Nonetheless, he picked up some bread and took a bite, if just to humour the older man. "And you know very well why Silfbár fainted in his wedding. It was because of all the mead you made him drink the previous night."

"I seem to recall that you had part in making him drink as well,, my valiant Marshal. In fact, I'm pretty sure you earn at least half the blame for the whole incident", Éothain grinned.

"You remember wrong. And no wonder that you do, considering how drunk _you _were", said the younger man unaffectedly. His friend chuckled.

"Still, maybe it's a good thing Silfbár stayed in Aldburg. He would probably have tried to get payback had he been here last night", Éothain said lightly.

"Hmm. Yes. The last thing the Princess needs is a nauseous, stinking ruin of a man", Éomer muttered, wrinkling his nose at the mere idea.

The thought of her turned his thoughts dark again and he sighed, pouring himself more wine. He looked at the captain, not even trying to hide his distress. "What am I supposed to do with her, Éothain?"

The captain nibbled at his apple, his face turning thoughtful. He gave the Marshal an encouraging smile.

"Well, she's a princess. Be respectful of her, but remember that she is also a young woman. She's probably just as scared as you are, if not more. It'll be up to you to guide her and take care of her until she gets used to everything. Be kind to her, Éomer."

Though it was often that Éothain cloaked it with jest and light humour, the Marshal knew there was wisdom under that smiling, bearded face. So far, he had always been able to trust on his captain's instinct, and he felt he could do so now too. Perhaps he'd some day be able to tell the older man how thankful he was.

Now, however, he narrowed his eyes.

"Maybe it should be _you _marrying her, not me. You at least to understand this much better than anyone else", Éomer said and shook his head. Éothain smiled.

"She may be a princess but I wouldn't exchange my Scýne for anyone. Relax, laddie. Smile a bit and be friendly. I'm sure it will all go well", he reassured his Marshal. Then he got up on his feet. "Now, I think it's almost time. We should get going."

"You got the cloak?" Éomer asked after emptying his glass with one long gulp.

"I'll take care of it, like I promised. No worries, Marshal. I'll guard it with my life", Éothain said. "Do you have the ring?"

"Yes. Do you think she'd prefer it silver?" asked the younger man after making sure that the piece of jewellery was in his pocket.

"Stop fussing already. She won't care if it's silver or golden and if she does, then she's an idiot. As for you, remember to breathe and smile once in a while. It's a princess you're marrying, not a dragon", Éothain said with a smile.

But, to be honest, Éomer had no idea if that was true.

* * *

The gathering in the great hall was not large: as it had been discussed before, the attendees consisted of Lothíriel's family, uncle and cousins, and few men from the Steward's council along with their wives. The Rohirric representation was the men of the Marshal's éored. All of them regarded their surroundings with enthusiastic eyes.

Lord Denethor had insisted on leading the ceremony. After the marriage contracts were signed – to the princess, it felt not unlike some business transaction – he made a big speech about things like alliance et cetera, and though most of it went unnoticed by the princess who was too busy trying not to cringe, she did take note that her uncle never mentioned anything that even resembled "love" or "affection".

At least her uncle had a very clear idea of what this marriage was supposed to be, and it had very little to do with personal chemistry.

Traditions from both countries were followed, if only to give it a sense of being a proper wedding between people who actually wanted to marry one another. It was common in Gondor, especially among the high-born, to provide one's betrothed with a ring upon their wedding. Apparently someone had informed the Marshal of this custom as he produced a golden ring for her, and she gave him silver. The ring he slipped in her finger had two tiny horse heads as a decoration, with green gems as their eyes. _Horses. Always horses. _

After exchanging the rings, one of the Marshal's men stepped forwards and offered a long green cloak to the bridegroom. Though Lothíriel could tell it was an old garment, it had been looked after with love and care. It was made of fine green wool, and its hood and its rims had been embroidered with yellow knotwork entwining with light green leaves. The Marshal received it as if he were given some relic of sacred old times, and gently he draped the cloak around her shoulders. His eyes sought hers when he fastened the golden brooch, but she looked down on his large warrior's hands. Fainien, who knew some of Rohirric customs from the books she had read, had said that in their eyes a marriage was valid as soon as the man draped his intended in a cloak: no other ceremony was required, and the act itself was seen as a proclamation of protection and loyalty.

So, when the weight of the cloak was lowered on her shoulders, Lothíriel felt also something like the weight of the fate that had brought them here... and the uncertainty of what it would come to mean in times to come.

With that, she was married to the Third Marshal of the Mark. Carefully, he picked up one of her hands and gave a kiss to her knuckles, yet still she would not meet his eyes – Lothíriel had no idea of what he might be thinking.

By the right of his rank, Lord Denethor was the first one to approach them and congratulate them as a husband and a wife. What he said largely repeated his speech, and by the end of it Lothíriel was fairly sure her smile had turned a grimace. When Uncle moved along, Boromir and Faramir followed, and then her father and her brothers along with their wives. Aredhel hugged her for a long time, and then she turned to look at the Marshal who stood beside the Princess. Though he was much taller than her – the top of her head would just have barely reached his shoulder – she somehow managed to create an aura of fierceness.

"I know what are the conditions of this marriage, and I know it is a foreign country for the both of you. You don't know it yet but you have been blessed with one of the brightest jewels in all of Gondor. I expect you to carry your role with honour and respect towards your wife. And if I ever hear that you have not treated our Lothíriel with the love and care she deserves, there are three fierce princes I'm going to send after you. Congratulations, my lord, and I hope your road together is blessed", she said, and before the Marshal could answer anything, she had already turned around and strode away.

Lothíriel did not dare to look at her husband, but neither could she help a small smile entering her face. That moment, she loved her sister-in-law more than she ever had.

The banquet that followed the ceremony was long and exhausting. Lothíriel was sat beside her new husband, but they never exchanged a word. Lothíriel sat silent for the most of it, staring down at her plate or her hands. Though courses of food came and went, she was only able to take a bite or two; the knot in her stomach grew so tight that she couldn't even think of eating anything.

Her new husband had lost his appetite as well as far she could tell, since he too barely touched his food. At some point Boromir engaged him in a conversation, but her father, who was sat beside her, seemed to sense Lothíriel was not in the mood for talk. After some time, he lay a hand on hers, and when she turned to look at him there was a gentle but sorrowing look on his face. Her father's blue-grey eyes seemed to speak _I'm sorry, _but she smiled at him. She knew it was not his fault that this had come to pass. After that moment, the Princess tried to smile and even eat, as she did not want her dear father thinking she was walking into a fate completely unwanted. Perhaps she could not have peace of mind but at least she'd give it to her family if she could.

Yet still after a while Lothíriel decided she couldn't stand it anymore – not unless she got a moment to herself. Some fresh air seemed more than necessary, and so she excused herself. Her husband gave her a look that she could not really decipher, but she did not stand to ponder on it. She had to get out, now. Otherwise, Lothíriel thought she'd go into hysterics.

Fortunately, a way out to the royal gardens was brief, and soon she was there in the falling evening. She knew it was full summer in Dol Amroth already, but here the last breath of spring still seemed to remain. She could only imagine how it was in north... in Aldburg. That was how they had called _his _home town. And she had no idea of what it would be like.

The Princess sighed and cast down her eyes. If the celebrations felt uncomfortable now, she could only imagine how it would be later. For the fact was that the marriage would only be considered abiding when they had... well. If a sheet stained with blood would not be found on the morrow, who knew what would happen? One thing she knew was that she _did not want _to have_ that _conversation with her uncle.

But how was she supposed to do what was expected of her? Lothíriel had not let herself think of it before, but perhaps that had been a poor idea. Maybe she _should _have thought about it and prepared herself. Technically, she knew what would take place, and it sounded not only uncomfortable but also embarrassing. How should she let someone she didn't even know so close to her?

On the other hand, maybe she should just follow Fainien's advice. Her readings of Rohirric culture had implied that the Rohirrim treated the whole matter differently. Apparently it was not so unusual for men and women to have partners before they married. In other words, Fainien had said, there was a good chance the Marshal already knew all there was to know about relations between a man and a woman. Lothíriel knew her sister-in-law meant it as a comfort but she had hard time thinking so, especially when the idea of him having good time with other women and then finding himself disappointed with her made her feel so intensely awkward. She did not even want to think of what would happen if he was displeased with his marital bed.

Fainien had said Rohirrim treated these things different. But surely a nephew to the king would not seek pleasure from another bed than hers? Really, it was crazy. On one hand, she was worried of the whole marital relations thing... yet on the other, she also feared whether he'd find her a displeasing wife. Either way, Lothíriel knew she would not be happy.

Her thoughts were interrupted then as she heard steps from behind, and a man of Rohan came to stand behind her. He wasn't as imposingly tall as the Marshal was, but he shared her husband's strong build. He sported long hair as well, but his colouring was darker than that of her husband, and his eyes were bright blue. His smiles were ready and friendly when she turned to look at her. He had been one of the first riders to congratulate them after the wedding ceremony, and she remembered his name was Éothain.

"My lady", he greeted her with a bow of his head. "May I join you for a bit?"

"Of course", she allowed, though she'd rather have told him she'd have preferred solitude. But before he could read that wish form her face, Lothíriel turned her face to look over the city.

"You are very beautiful tonight, my lady", he commented after a moment of silence.

"Thank you, Master Éothain", she said softly, briefly glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"It's Captain, Princess. I mean, I'm your lord husband's second in command", he said then, at it seemed to her that he took much pride in that fact. "Have been ever since Théoden King made him the Third Marshal."

"I see", she answered softly, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"He's a good man, my lady. He'd probably be horrified to hear me blathering in this way, but... give him a chance. He may yet surprise both you and himself. I've known him for a long time and I'm convinced he'll be a good husband if you just let him."

"Thank you, captain Éothain", she said, her voice sharper than she had intended. He seemed to notice that as he fell silent then, and he did not speak until some time.

"It's his mother's cloak you're wearing, by the way", he said.

"What?" Lothíriel asked in surprise. Now she turned to look at the man properly. He gave her a small smile.

"It's the same one Marshal Éomund draped on Princess Théodwyn's shoulders some thirty years back. It has been preserved until now, and I suppose Lord Éomer always planned to give it to his wife when he married. They asked if he wanted a new one made, but he said he'd rather give his wife this one. It means a lot to him, my lady", Éothain said, searching for her eyes as if trying to see what she thought at that.

"I see", she said quietly, turning away once more. She had no idea of what to think or how to feel about the captain's words.

She felt his stare then and she glanced at him. Éothain's face was friendly and even gentle.

"I know you are scared, my lady. I can see it on your face. But I can assure you that you will be received well. It's going to be all right", he said and his voice was most reassuring. And she wanted to believe him.

However, how do you trust someone you don't even know?

She nodded quietly at his words nevertheless and she didn't ask him how he'd know anything at all. When he asked if she'd like to return inside with him, she agreed.

* * *

Lothíriel hoped Aredhel would never stop brushing her hair.

After she had returned inside with Captain Éothain, she had once again taken her place beside her husband. He was still deep in conversation with Boromir and he gave her only a quick, wary glance when she sat down. Her father looked at her longer than that, but she had offered him a smile she hoped was consoling. Despite everything, her conversation with the captain had been more comfortable than anything so far this day.

The banquet went on for some time yet. It was around sunset that her husband turned to look at him and finally spoke to her: "Shall we retire, my lady?"

Well, what does one answer to that? Lothíriel knew there was no way she could tell him no. So she had just nodded quietly, and they had risen up; that had uncomfortably brought everyone's attentions to them and she had tried to stare at everything except the faces of those present.

As if someone else had moved her body, she had laid her hand on the arm of her husband. She had moved, but she didn't know if that moving force had been herself. And somehow, she had ended up in the bedchamber that was intended for her and her husband.

Aredhel had appeared as if from nowhere, asking her husband to give them a moment. He had nodded quietly and fallen away, and what he was doing now she did not know. Instead, she was sat on the edge of the bed while her sister-in-law brushed her hair, dressed in nothing but a thin nightgown.

"It's all right, Lothíriel", Aredhel began the talk that she supposed she should have expected, "I know you're scared. But it'll be fine. I promise."

"How do you know that?" asked the princess, and her voice was weak when the words came out.

"I don't know", Aredhel allowed at length, "but I hope."

Lothíriel did not know what to answer to that. So she just sighed and stared down at her hands.

"It's not going to be too nice at first, I imagine", said the older woman then, "but you must give it some time. For now it is probably for the better if you let him take the lead. It can be very enjoyable, if you just give it a chance. The most important part is that you trust him."

"Trust him?" Lothíriel echoed in disbelief.

"I know it sounds hard, sister", Aredhel said gently, resting a hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, and then Elphir's wife sighed.

"It's about time, I think", she said softly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Aredhel bid her good night and then – too soon – she was gone. Lothíriel almost asked her to stay even if she knew that could not happen, but by then her sister-in-law was outside already and she was left alone. She tried not to think of anything, especially what was bound to happen very soon... but it was hard. She did not know how to keep that all out of her mind.

And then the door opened. Despite herself, Lothíriel looked up, and he stood there. He had relived himself of his dark green coat and wore only a thin shirt and breeches. He lingered at the door, studying her as if he were not quite sure if he should enter or not. She lowered her gaze again, and she did not lift her eyes even when she heard him approaching. Finally, he sat beside her on the bed, close but not touching.

For the longest time, they sat silent. The Princess stared mutely down on her lap, and though she had expected to feel terrified when this moment would arrive... now she was just numb. She couldn't feel, nor think. So she just waited him to say or do something.

"You know what must happen", he said at last, and he did not sound particularly happy. Lothíriel did not know which was worse: the possibility that he'd be precisely the kind of brute that would take pleasure in taking her, or hearing this resignation in his voice that made her understand he did not want this any more than she did.

"Yes", she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her hands.

Her husband sighed and fell silent again. Another moment of silence went by and nothing happened.

"My lady", he said at last. "Are you..."

"I'm perfectly well", she snapped quickly, though she was not so sure where that particular reaction came from. Well, she was very uncomfortable and unsure of what to do.

"Of course", said the Marshal quietly.

Another long moment of silence went by, and still she stared at her hands. A part of her acknowledged she should have done or at least said something, yet she could not bring herself to act. So she just sat there mutely, waiting for... well, she didn't know for what.

Then, at last, he moved closer.

"My lady, it would be easier for you if you allowed me-" he began, but she did not let him finish his sentence.

"I'd like us to just get over with it", she announced. Her voice was hard and so unlike herself that even Lothíriel had hard time believing it was actually her who spoke that, and there was something in her that told her to take that back... or at least soften it somehow. But her voice did not obey her now, and so she remained quiet.

"As you wish", he answered. Whatever had been soft about his voice was gone now, and instead there was hardness there that made her tremble.

Marshal Éomer got up on his feet and turned his back to her, and soon she realised it was because he was undressing. That was she started doing as well, though her motions were like someone else was controlling her. She dropped her thin white nightgown on the floor and settled on the bed, to wait for whatever it was that needed to happen.

When he turned, he was...

He was tall, large, and golden – and just as vibrant as he had been yesterday and earlier today in the middle of the dark and light colourlessness of the palace of Minas Tirith. She had never seen a naked man before and the sight of him almost made her loose her courage. So she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down with a long, heavy breath. Perhaps, in some other situation, she might have found him beautiful. But not here... not now.

"Go ahead", she said and even she could not tell what was the note in her voice then. The mattress dipped and after a moment, he was there. Lothíriel never opened her eyes.

How they were able to do it that night, she did not know. They never exchanged kisses or anything like that, and there was not that closeness or tenderness her sisters-in-law had spoken of. Instead, it was cold and methodical, and his weight was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. In fact, it almost felt like he was doing something he did not particularly like doing. That did nothing to ease her.

And it hurt, just like she had expected it would; she wanted to cry yet somehow she was able not to let her tears fall. She felt no comfort, no happiness at all. What was supposed to be a union of love and trust felt just what it was: two people forced together when it was not what either of them wanted.

When he rolled away, she turned on her side so that her back was to him. As if on instinct, she pulled herself into a fetal position, and she never knew of what misery he might be experiencing.

How she was able to not cry that night, Lothíriel did not know. What she should have been thinking was how he got through that night without weeping.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh my God I can't stop writing. Someone please come and steal my laptop.

I'd like to acknowledge that here I went to a place which is very problematic and difficult for both Lothíriel and Éomer. Neither of them are too willing yet both of them think it's necessary. What is tragic about their union here, I think, is their lack of communication. They both believe this is what is required of them, and it could be so different if they just trusted each other and talked about it... and Lothíriel doesn't even realise what it does to her new husband, because he's actually thinking he took her by force, that he hurt her... and his intense guilt goes unnoticed by her. Just because _they don't talk. _

I understand if you think this is a problematic chapter. It was meant to be that way. How could it be anything else, if you take a moment to look at what happens?

Thanks for the comments!

* * *

**1607hannah - **Sometimes I just wonder what the heck is wrong with my muse to torment me so in the middle of night! Anyway, it's comforting to know I'm not the only one with that problem. :) Thanks for your kind words!

**Lina -** I don't think it's much of a lie on his part, really. It's more like he's just so surprised and taken aback by this random woman in the stables that he just blurts out stuff he doesn't really think about. Also, at that point Lothíriel _is _just some random woman, so there's no really point in him telling her who he is. He probably takes her for some servant or perhaps even a noblewoman, but certainly not the princess he's about to marry - essentially, someone he's not going to meet again. It's a confusing situation for him, really.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It perhaps should not have been such a surprise, not even after all the discomfort she had felt over having to marry a stranger, but the hardest part still was the saying goodbye to her family. It was worse than agreeing to do this insane thing, and worse than giving herself to a man she did not know.

The day they were set for Rohan was fittingly grey and the clouds gathering over the city seemed to promise rain for later. It was four days after the wedding and goodbyes aside, Lothíriel could not really tell which she abhorred more – the uneasy atmosphere in Minas Tirith or the prospect of travel. Interaction between herself and her husband remained cool and sparse: though they shared bed each night and sat side by side on the formal meals, the Marshal was much preoccupied by Lord Denethor, Boromir, or perhaps Elphir with whom he seemed to get along the best. Apparently they were busied with negotiations and arranging other necessary things – like the shipping of her things from Dol Amroth, along with the goods that made up her dowry. Lothíriel herself did not know on what price she had been sold to the Third Marshal, and frankly she did not even care to know.

Towards her, he was always coolly polite, though they did not talk with each other too much. He did not seek marital relations after the wedding night but rather chose to sleep on the far edge of their bed, rising up on the morrow before she had even awakened and crawling there well after nightfall.

But at least in Minas Tirith was her family, and once they'd depart for Rohan, there was no telling when she might see them again. So the Princess spent most of her time with her sisters-in-law, her brothers, Faramir, and her Father. And seeing the way they'd look at her on some moments, she tried to show her brave face in the hopes of easing at least some of their concern for her. After all, it was too late now to turn back. She was now a woman grown, not a child who could hide behind her father's back.

Bravery was hard, though, but never more than it was on the morrow of their departure. The atmosphere that day had been even more solemn than it had been on past few days, and Lothíriel could tell she was not the only one who was fighting against tears. When they stood outside, Fainien and Aredhel would not stop hugging her. Fainien looked like she'd start to cry if she spoke, but Aredhel kept promising it'd be all right, that everything would become better.

It did nothing to improve her mood even when the beautiful dark-coated mare that she had intended to steal was brought in the yard: Éothain said the Marshal had himself picked it for his future wife. The captain called the mare Ǽfnung, and he said it meant "Evening" in Rohirric. In any other situation, she'd have loved the animal, but now she just felt vaguely ill.

Mostly ignorant of any unhappiness, the Marshal's riders filled the courtyard with enthusiastic bustling as they readied their horses for the journey. They'd travel light but Éothain had promised she wouldn't have to sleep under the bare sky among the riders: for her, a proper tent along with furs and cushions had been taken. Apparently it could get cold at night, although it was already May.

When the Marshal himself lead out his grey stallion – the one with the foul look, of course – Lothírel did not almost recognise him at first. In his armour, he looked even larger; she suddenly understood exactly what Faramir had meant when he had said this man was intimidating.

He nodded his head at her, and quietly greeted her: "My lady."

She had yet to hear him speak her name... but then, she too had yet to speak _his. _

Nevertheless, Lothíriel answered the greeting with a bow of her head, as did her sisters-in-law. Her brothers came then, and each of them hugged her and gave her words of encouragement. Amrothos firmly told her he'd come and visit her soon in Aldburg, and she truly hoped he would keep that word. Then her father came to her side and took her in his arms. Unspeaking, Father held her for a long time. When he pulled back, there were tears in his eyes, though he would not let them fall.

"Farewell, my child", was all he could say, and it almost had her crying too.

"I'll see you again, Father. I promise", she said, and though she tried for a sure voice, she just sounded squeaky. Realising that if she looked at him for one moment more, she'd definitely start sobbing right there, and so she determinedly fixed her eyes on Ǽfnung. There would be plenty of time for tears later, but now she had to make her family believe she would be fine.

When she was by the mare, a wary touch briefly fell on her arm; the Marshal was by her side and was offering her his hands to use as a step to mount the horse. His dark eyes searched her face but she couldn't tell what he were thinking. Deciding it best to just ignore that look, she took support from his hands and climbed on Ǽfnung's back.

Around them, the Marshal's men were mounting their horses and the air felt electrified as the company prepared for travel. For one last time, her father grabbed her hand and squeezed it; how she was able to smile at him then, Lothíriel did not know.

"It'll be fine, Father", she said softly. "Maybe next time we meet, I'll be able to introduce you to more grandchildren."

Her father smiled through his tears, kissed her fingers, and then let go.

"Safe travel, daughter", he said. And the Marshal's grey warhorse shot forward and his men followed, and though everything in Lothíriel screamed her to stay, she urged Ǽfnung to move.

* * *

That evening, the Marshal called for a stop well before sunset. It was a curious exception, because usually the tireless man would have had his men riding until nightfall. In fact, there were times when his men thanked Béma for the blessing that was Captain Éothain, who had the gift of seeing when both his Marshal and the men needed to stop. It was not a trait that men hated in their leader, because every day they also saw that he pushed himself more than any other man.

But why he ordered the company to set camp early that day was quickly understood when one took a look at the Princess. Eyes red and moving as if she was hurting all over, she was a miserable sight. Yet when they started to settle the camp, she was seen stumbling to the Marshal and asking if her help was needed. But apparently his answer had been negative, and as soon as the tent was up, she was not seen for the rest of the night. If she was so exhausted already now, one could only wonder how she'd ever make it to Aldburg.

"I saw her crying before. She wouldn't stop sobbing when we left Mundburg", said a rider named Wíglic to his friend Hafoc, who nodded in agreement as the two of them unfastened their bedrolls from the saddle.

"It's all folly, my friend, like I said before. She's a pretty little thing but I'll eat my beard if those southern flowers can endure in the Mark", he agreed.

"Aye. Give me a nice tough woman of the Mark any day", Wíglic said and the two shared a grin.

"I don't know about you but I'd like us to travel faster too. It feels like we're on some cosy little Sunday ride", his friend complained, and his friend harrumphed sympathetically at that. Both of them would have liked to make haste so that they'd get to Aldburg sooner; Wíglic was especially anxious to get to his wife.

"Why'd the Marshal agree to this anyway? I thought he already had-" Hafoc started, but as if from nowhere, Éothain appeared. Well, that was no wonder; the man had ears of the fox and though all the Marshal's men would have followed him to the fire and death, no one was more fiercely loyal to him as the captain was.

"You lads would do well if you kept those thoughts to yourself", Éothain said gravely, frowning at the two riders. "I won't hear any mutterings about Lady Lothíriel. Try and remember that she's a young woman who has just said goodbye to her family, and I'm fairly sure everyone here would be just as upset if they were sent to live among strangers. And if you try to say you weren't sore and exhausted after your first full day in the saddle, you're lying."

The two riders exchanged a quick glance and nodded silently at the captain, but neither of them were too unsurprised or without their notions by just how quiet the Princess' tent was that night.

* * *

The plains of the Mark extended around them vast and green in the glory of late spring. Lothíriel supposed it was a beautiful land, but it was foreign as well. There was no scent of salt in the wind, no breath from the sea. The air was brisker than in Dol Amroth. She missed her home by the sea so much already that sometimes it felt like there was a weight on her chest that prevented her from breathing. The memory of that last sight she had cast on the white city by the sea came to her as a painful reminder.

They did not make too much haste on their way towards Aldburg, which was probably her husband's way of trying to be nice. On the first day of their travel, he had the riders stop well before the sunset and ordered the camp to be set; though she said nothing, she was grateful for that as she was certain she'd have fallen from the saddle if they had continued any longer. She had little appetite that evening so as soon as the tent was up, she settled down on the furs and cushions and waited for the tears to pour out. And cry she did, until she was just so exhausted that she fell asleep despite all her expectations of not being able to catch an hour of sleep in these conditions. She never heard him coming in that night, but on the morrow the Princess was awakened when he moved about in the search of his helmet.

Altogether it was strange to ride in the middle of a bunch of Rohirric warriors. They were a noisy lot, laughing and talking with each other in a light-hearted manner. She understood very little of what was going as the conversations were mostly carried out in Rohirric. Lothíriel preferred solitude for the moment, however. Moping never made anyone a fascinating conversationalist, and the riders either saw she was in no mood for chat or just felt they did not know what to say to a princess.

Truth be told, she'd have loved to see at least one familiar face in the middle of all these fair-haired, bearded men. But before they had sailed for Minas Tirith, Lothíriel had insisted she'd take no Gondorian handmaiden with her to Rohan, and so she was effectively alone in the middle of Rohirric men. Back then she had stubbornly – and kind of dramatically, she allowed that – decided she'd inflict something like this on anyone else: she'd not make some poor girl leave her home just because she was feeling insecure. However, now she was regretting that choice. Lothíriel thought to herself she must have been mad to dare on this road all alone.

Her husband rode up in the front, which seemed to be his usual position when his éored rode out. Éothain was there by the Marshal's side, and Lothíriel herself was somewhere in the middle, with one rider on her each side. In their heavy armours and carrying long spears, they looked like quite the force of nature.

Come afternoon Captain Éothain let his horse fall back so that eventually he was riding beside her. Quietly, the Princess wondered if the Marshal had ordered him to come and keep her some company, but she did not ask. Her relations with her husband remained distant still and she had no idea how and if that would ever improve.

"My lady", Éothain greeted her and offered her a smile. He was the nicest person she had met among these men so far. "How are you today?"

"I'm all right", she said, mostly out of duty. She'd not be spilling any sob stories on this man. Who knew what his motivations were? Maybe he was spying for the Marshal. Be it as may when he looked at her, his face was gentle – almost fatherly somehow.

"Princess, you don't have to say that if it's not true", Éothain said. "No one blames you if you are scared or unhappy."

"Well, I'm not", Lothíriel said sharply. She could understand if things were different in Rohan, but as little as she'd have expected to have sympathetic approaches from her Father's men, she expected them from the men serving her husband.

The captain seemed to understand and he bowed his head as if in apology.

"I see, my lady. Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude", he said quietly and looked like he was about to urge his horse forward. With some embarrassment, Lothíriel realised how rude she had been; the man was just being friendly to her, after all.

"No, it is me who should apologise", she said quickly before he could ride forth. "I am sorry for being impolite."

The captain smiled and fell back to her side again.

"No offence taken, my lady. Believe me or not, but I do understand your discontent", he said calmly, and she offered him a weak smile.

They rode on in silence for a moment, and then Éothain spoke again: "Are you worried for when we will get to Aldburg?"

"... yes. I am worried and I fear I won't fit in. What will people think of me there, captain?" she asked, worrying her lower lip.

"If you ask me, I'd say they'll like you, my lady. Just be yourself and everything will go well. You wouldn't believe how excited everyone is! They think it's so amazing that Marshal Éomer is going to bring a real princess to our humble town. My wife Scýne is just as excited as the others – she'll be a good friend for you, if it please you", he said warmly.

"Would you tell me about her, captain?" Lothíriel asked, if just to have something else to think of than her dark musings. The Rohir complied eagerly enough, and he began with tales of his wife – whom he seemed to love very much – which quickly developed into far larger stories of Aldburg, the Marshal's family, and the Rohirrim themselves. Éothain was a lively storyteller and she found herself smiling at his light jests and anecdotes... and it was strange to realise that it was the first occasion in some time that she even did smile.

Nevertheless, the afternoon was spent in pleasant conversations, which were more or less continued over supper that evening.

It was only when she was curled up under the warm furs that she wondered to herself if it would have been better for her to have those conversations with her husband instead of his captain.

* * *

It was after crossing the Mering Stream that they effectively rode into a band of orcs. One moment, Lothíriel was talking with Captain Éothain about her brothers while they were riding up a hill... and then from the top, they could see the ragged group of those abominable creatures she had so far only heard stories of. Looking at their twisted and mutilated faces and their short and gnarled but sturdy shapes, Lothíriel wished she'd never have seen them either, and the cold fist of fear closed around her heart.

The Marshal bellowed what sounded like orders, and down the hill the orcs were frantically trying to come up with a defence: even trough her fear, Lothíriel realised the situation was far better for the riders as they were not only horseback, but also had the advantage of high ground.

"_Hafoc! Bewit min wif!" _shouted the Marshal to one of his men – a red-haired fellow who couldn't have been much older than Amrothos.

"_Gea, Hlafórd Éomer!" _answered the man and he guided his horse close to Lothíriel. She realised he had been ordered to look after her; she didn't know how she felt about that, but at least she'd probably survive this turn of events.

The Rohirrim charged down the hill, spears ready for the battle contact, shouting what sounded to the Princess like _"Eorlingas!" _It was not an understatement to say that they practically rode the orcs to the ground, and Lothíriel had to turn her eyes away from the slaughter. She had no pity for orcs but she had never seen a battle, and even the sounds of clashing steel and shouting of men had her stomach turning.

But then Hafoc grunted something that sounded like a curse as a stray orc charged, coming from his side of the hill, and he rode to meet it with his spear and sword ready. Heart beating fast, Lothíriel held on to her reins and tried to stay calm, even if a voice was screaming in her mind to turn her horse and gallop away as fast as she could.

Perhaps that would not even have been such a poor idea, as yet another orc appeared, and now there was no one to stand between her and the vicious creature that was approaching her fast from her right side. Ǽfnung neighed and reared, her hoofs clawing at the empty air like she were attempting to kick the living daylight out of the attacking orc – which probably was the very thing the animal _was _trying to do. But the creature snarled and dodged the mare's violently kicking feet, lifting a rusty sword high above his head...

The stroke of sword fell, but it was met with Rohirric steel as the Third Marshal of the Mark forced his way in between his wife and her would-be killer. His stallion bit at the orc's face, as if he were just as eager to get rid of the creature as his master was. Lothíriel only realised she was crying when she saw her husband behead the orc with single blow of his sword.

She was so distraught that much of what happened after that was lost to her. There was apparently some talk about how half of the éored would stay behind to gather and burn the corpses while the rest would ride forward and make camp, to look after the injured and settle for night. But she felt nauseous and weak and she very nearly fell from the saddle. Fortunately, Captain Éothain noticed her discomfort and it was not long after that the Marshal rode beside her, lifted her carefully from under her shoulders, and placed her on the front of himself. Had she not been so out of her mind that moment, Lothíriel would have objected. However, for now she was in no way feeling well enough to argue.

The princess only started to come back to her senses when she was sat by a camp-fire, with a cup of steaming tea brewed of herbs. Someone had placed a cloak of green wool over her shoulders but she wouldn't have been able to tell who had done that. A watchful quiet in the camp around her was only disrupted by moans of the injured every now and then, and the men wore faces like they were expecting another attack any moment now.

After a while, Captain Éothain sat beside her.

"How do you feel, my lady?" he asked.

"I'll live, it'd seem", she said with a weak smile and took a sip of tea. It wasn't too bad, to be honest.

"I'm glad to hear that. We were very worried of you", he said solemnly, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. She grimaced.

"You shouldn't. I acted like a complete coward", Lothíriel muttered to herself. Really, she _was _ashamed. She was a sister and cousin to mighty warriors, and yet just witnessing a battle could immobilise her so!

"Princess, you acted like I'd expect someone who has never seen a battle would act", Éothain said calmly. "I've seen even old, seasoned warriors lose their nerve in a battle. You're no warrior, my lady, and there is no shame in being distraught."

"Thank you, captain. You're very kind", said the Princess quietly. She looked up at the man, "Is my help needed with the injured?"

"No, no. They've been already looked after. None of them were wounded too severely anyway. They should be able to ride tomorrow, or maybe the day after", he answered. "You just concentrate on yourself now, my lady."

She nodded quietly at that and looked down on her bowl of tea again. After a moment of silence, she asked: "Where... where is my husband?"

"He went to check that everything is well with the men he left to look after the bodies. He'll come back soon", Éothain said. Then he looked at her inquisitively, "Would you like some supper?"

She accepted some stew if just to humour him, but food was mostly just unappealing at the moment, and so after some time Lothíriel retreated into the waiting tent and changed into the plain dress she used as a nightgown. However, as soon as she was curled under the furs, she regretted her choice to try to have some rest: a sense of certainty came to her and it was that there would only be nightmares if she'd even be able to sleep.

The light outside waned, and apparently she did doze off despite of all – not deep enough to dream though, and she was startled when she heard someone entering the tent. Quickly, she glanced over her shoulder and saw her husband undressing his armour. She had already learned it took a while for him to get rid of all that steel and leather. Lothíriel settled back and listened to him move about in the tent.

She expected him to go out as soon as he was ready, but instead, he sat down by her feet. Then a hand came to rest on her shin.

"My lady", he spoke quietly, "are you awake?"

At first Lothíriel thought of pretending she was asleep, but before she could stop herself she had already turned to look at him. He was watching her with... it was concern, of all emotions.

"Are you unwell, my lady?" he asked when he saw she was awake. Not sure what to answer, Lothíriel quietly shook her head.

"I am sorry that you had to see a battle. I did not expect orcs would dare to travel so near to the Great West Road", he said, his voice turning dark.

"It's fine, my lord", she said quietly.

"You needn't worry, my lady. I should think the road will be safer once we pass from these borderlands", he reassured her. Lothíriel wasn't sure what moved her, but she sat up and she looked at him. He had worn this reserved, impenetrable face ever since their wedding – at least until now, that was. Now he seemed to have forgotten about his guard and seemed a gentler man altogether.

She thought she should probably say something, but then his face turned strange; his eyes were fixed on her and their gaze was intense. So intense, in fact, that she could not look away. Desperately, Lothíriel tried to find words – anything at all – but she never got that chance. For the thing was, he suddenly moved closer with unexpected speed, and his mouth was pressed against hers.

The touch of his lips on hers was a curious feeling at first and for a moment she was left wondering about the fact that this was the first time ever anyone kissed her. His beard scratched at her skin, contrasting the softness of his lips. The kiss was tentative and careful... until she could feel the touch of his tongue on her lower lip, as if asking for entrance. Unsure of how to react she froze, and then the lack of an answer made him shift as in moving away.

It was then she stopped caring, and she didn't want to fight now, not this night – not when she just wanted to forget about everything for now. Maybe she would tomorrow again, but not tonight. And so she grabbed his head by the back of his neck to prevent him from pulling away, and she opened her mouth to signal he could kiss her just as much as he wanted.

That was all it took to urge him. His mouth met hers hungrily again, and he pulled her close to himself.

The sureness of his touch reassured her of what she had suspected before: she was not the first woman he had ever the way he moved his hands on her, how he touched her... It made her forget about everything that was not his touch. _Oh, he was good._ Suddenly, she could only concentrate on feeling, and _she wanted more... _Yes. It didn't even surprise her when she realised she wanted her husband – after all, it was not like she was an ice woman with no need or wish for physical love. Maybe it was exhaustion or her shock and fear or just simple, instinctive need for solace in the arms of a man. Lothíriel did not concern herself with thoughts of what it was. She could worry and be angry to herself about that later, but now her only interest was to answer his kisses and his touches.

He relieved himself of his coat, and then she helped to pull the thin undershirt over his head. She had looked at him on the night they had been married and she had very briefly thought he was not a bad-looking man... but when she felt his shoulders and chest and arms under her hands, that thought of hers was put in a completely different perspective. And he impatiently tugged at her clothes as well... which was something she eagerly helped with.

This time, there was no uneasiness in the matter of being naked in his presence. As a matter of fact, she was much too occupied to even think of it. She didn't _want _to think of anything. And he was providing the best help one could have possibly hoped for with that particular problem. One does not really concentrate on thinking anything when the flames of desire burn one so urgently.

Her husband pushed her on the furs and as her hands were locked about his shoulders, she pulled him after her. He seemed to follow eagerly enough. He sought her lips once again which she answered most enthusiastically; she could feel that he was ready for her and placing one leg about the back of his thighs, she invited him.

Groaning, he guided himself inside her, and he thrust, and it was _so different _than on their wedding night... her legs, almost involuntarily, locked around his hips, to keep him close. And he thrust again and again and it wasn't unpleasant like she remembered; his hand crept up between them, until finally her breath turned into moans she tried to hide in kisses. Then she felt it, the excruciating pleasure that, in a way, almost resembled pain...

When she found her release, Lothíriel called the name of her husband for the first time since the day they had been wed.

* * *

It was the sensation of being cold that brought her back to half-awakeness. Cool air was brushing against her skin, but there was warmth nearby, radiating heat that invited her. Instinctively, she turned towards that source of warmth under the furs. It was a naked body, large and solid and male; she snuggled closer and curled up against it in an attempt to get warm again.

Once she was settled there, all half-aware thoughts of being cold started to dissolve, and Lothíriel fell back into dreams.

* * *

**A/N: **My dear muse, I know you have lately developed a taste for keeping me up in the middle of night for writing purposes, but could you please consider my need for sleep every now and then? Thank you.

So, again I return with an early update, thanks to the insane muse and idle hours of night. This chapter was... well, it was easier to write than I'd have thought it would be, but once again I'd like to state that both Éomer and Lothíriel are still in a problematic place, and though there's this sudden intimacy between them in this chapter, I'm not sure it is the turn for the better in their relationship. It's especially uneasy for Lothíriel because she's so alone, and she doesn't really understand yet what friend she has in Éothain. But like Éothain has already had Éomer's back, I think he'd also have hers.

The Old English bit should translate as follows:

_Bewit min wif!_ = Guard my wife!  
_Gea, Hlafórd Éomer! = _Yes, Lord Éomer!

I hope I got it right, but if my translations are wrong, I'd love to know!

* * *

**mentarisenja - **I admit I considered that possibility, but eventually decided against it. That choice ended up changing a lot of things that will happen, but I honestly think it was a good choice. But now I'm getting ahead of myself!

**Talia119 - **The lack of wooing is not in small part because of they simply don't have time for that. There's never really chance for them to get to know each other as there's so little time in between their first meeting and the wedding. And most of the time, they're surrounded by people, and to Éomer it seems like she'd only run away if he tried to approach her alone. Not to mention he doesn't think any wooing will really fix the situation.

Éothain is actually someone who has grown on me so much that I wouldn't have believed it. :D I'm very fond of him, to be honest.

**kikibretagne - **Thanks for your comments! Glad to hear you're liking the story so far. :) No Éomer's POV in this chapter but that'll most likely change in the next one.

And no worries about language! I can understand your concern though, as I'm not a native speaker of English either.

**1607hannah - **Good to hear that! I was actually a bit worried at first if it was something I should write, but in retrospect I'm glad that I did. Thanks for the compliments!

**Sandy-wmd - **It was doubtlessly difficult, but there are reasons as to why he could. Not going to them here, however.

**SymphonicPoem - **We'll see about that - but not quite yet. ;)

**Recovering4life - **Thanks! I'm glad that someone else is as excited about this story as I am! :D Many thanks for your kind words!

**Hannah - **And here you go! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

When he woke up, Éomer slowly came aware of an unexpected thing, and that was the fact that a naked, female body was pressed against his own. It had been some time since he had felt such thing upon waking and he realised he had missed this feeling. His first instinct was to pull her into his arms and perhaps wake her with a kiss...

But then he began to think of just why there would be a naked woman sleeping beside him, and he opened his eyes. And there she was, his wife sleeping quietly beside him and looking more peaceful than he had ever seen her so far. His first thought was not to move, so that he would not disturb that calm look on her face. After all, once she'd wake up she would not look so peaceful anymore, and that familiar troubled look would come to her face in no time and constantly remind him of how wrong all this was.

However, when he looked at her there, and especially when he remembered the last night, it did not feel wrong. He was not exactly sure what had made him kiss her, and he had expected her to push him back... the lack of response had almost made him pull away in embarrassment for acting so spontaneously. But then against all his expectations, she had answered the kiss, and... what clumsiness and inexperience she had was made up for with enthusiasm. Indeed, it had surprised him for he would not have thought there would be such passion under the cool surface.

As he looked at her sleeping face, a feeling of doubt came to the Marshal: had he done wrong in approaching her like that? Perhaps she'd be angry with him once she woke up. Oh, what had he done? He should have known better than to ask for her affections after how shocked and scared out of her mind she had been. But somehow he had needed her last night – her, the woman who seemed so distant and cool. Could it be that she had needed him as well?

_No. _The last thing his wife needed after a shock was her stranger of a husband barging into her bed. On the night of their wedding, after she had pulled away and turned her back to him, he had sworn to himself he'd not touch her again unless she asked him to... which he didn't think would happen any time soon. Yet this was how long he had been able to keep that decision! He was a weak, despicable person and it would be a wonder if she would not send for her brothers the first chance she got.

As quietly as he could, Éomer got up and sought for his clothes that were scattered about on the ground. She never woke up as he dressed, and he was grateful for that. He had no idea of what he should have done or said if she had.

Still before he left the tent, he did tiptoe to her side, if just to pull the furs better over her sleeping form.

* * *

Her husband was helpful in the whole thing about not meeting each other's eyes or exchanging words. He did not try to pretend he didn't see her at all – he silently nodded at her that morning when she emerged from the tent – but he uttered no word to her on that morning.

Perhaps it was for the better, because in all honesty, Lothíriel had no idea of what they should have said. Though it had been a relief not to find him there when she woke up, it also made her feel sad and ashamed. After a night such as the one they had shared... well, it wouldn't be sharing a bed like that which would mend it all.

If the men had heard them last night, she could not tell. At least no one gave her looks that would have implied so. Then again, perhaps they had already let her husband hear all about it, if he had been up and about for some time. Her interactions of that morning consisted mostly of Éothain asking with a smile if she'd like some tea and breakfast, and she had sat by the camp fire to eat while the men bustled about.

Those who had injured in the battle yesterday were well enough to travel, and secretly she was happy about that. Staying here on the uninhabited plains would only have meant awkward encounters with her husband. At least on the road he was busy with leading the men and she could hide in the middle of the company.

So, before morning had grown old, they were ready continue. As the Marshal was willing to get some distance between the company and the borderlands, they kept up a faster pace than before.

As they journeyed further in to the land of the horselords, they began to see villages and settlements on their way. She saw horsemen watching over flocks of sheep and cattle – she had heard that the best wool and animal skins came from Rohan. They also passed by fields that were now ready after the spring sowing and only waiting for prosperous weather. Villages she saw were very different to the towns and cities of Gondor: though stone was used in foundations, the Rohirrim preferred their houses wooden.

It was easy to see one was in the land of horsemen: even the small folk could take pride in steeds she knew her brothers would eagerly have bought at the very sight of them, and the houses and clothing of people the horse motifs endlessly varied along with elaborate knotworks one could stare for hours and still have no idea where it began and where it ended. In their clothes, the Rohirrim favoured warm and earthly colours and she felt very alien in the middle of it all. Lothíriel tried to think well of these people, but they just... they were just so _strange. _And she was supposed to spend the rest of her life among them.

The Marshal and his éored were greeted with enthusiastic shouts in the villages they passed. Apparently he and his men were a familiar sight in these parts. One day, they stopped in one of those villages to water the horses, and Éothain said the Marshal also wanted to hear the news of the Mark. Apparently this particular settlement fell inside the area her husband was responsible of protecting.

"My lord's father was the same. When he rode out, he'd always take some time in the villages to ask of their tidings and help where he could. He'd send word to Edoras, if there was something that he couldn't fix. Lord Éomund was... well, I was young when he still lived, but even then I thought he was one of the best men I've ever known", Éothain said quietly to Lothíriel. "I see much of him in Lord Éomer."

"What happened to my lord husband's father?" she asked the captain. She had heard he had died when her husband had been young but nothing more.

"He was slain in a battle many years ago. It broke the heart of his wife, Princess Théodwyn. She fell ill soon after and died before a year had passed. Lord Éomer was only eleven at the time, and his sister Lady Éowyn was seven", Éothain said gravely, shaking his head. Lothíriel cast a surprised look at the captain.

"I did not know that", she said in astonishment.

"It's not something he eagerly speaks of either, my lady. But fortunately Théoden King took them under his wing and raised them like his own children... he had much love for his sister Théodwyn, and Éomund was a very good friend of his – the best, even. Still, I doubt there are many men or women in the Mark who love our King more than Éomund's children do", Éothain said.

The conversation came to a halt then, as the Marshal called his captain. He nodded at the Princess and hurried off to hear what it was his master wanted.

As for Lothíriel, she returned to Ǽfnung's side and petted the animal's neck gently. She thought of what Éothain had just told her, and trembled. She remembered the death of her own mother, and though it had been years since that dark day, the memory of it still stung. But at least she had been left with her father... and she could not even imagine how terrifying it must have been.

These musings threatened to darken her mood, and so she pushed them out of her mind. Instead, she concentrated on her mare and for a while she thought of nothing except of Ǽfnung's wise eyes and soft dark coat.

Standing there by her steed, she cast a look around and took note of group of small children who had gathered nearby: some of them were giggling to themselves and other just staring silently at her as if she were the first woman they had ever seen. It wasn't just children watching, though. She had seen some of the curious glances thrown at her when they had ridden to the village. Her dark hair and the blues of her clothing did nothing to blend her in. The princess thought to herself she'd have to acquire some reds and greens in her garderobe, if only just help her pass as one of these people. But then, even though some of the Rohirrim did have dark hair, she had yet to see a shade so dark as hers.

Then one of the children, a girl with wild auburn hair and freckled face, approached the Princess. With a timid little smile, the girl offered her a wreath of yellow flowers.

"_Fore __sēo __fæger hlæfdige__", _said the girl, her face turning into a bright grin.

"Thank you, little one", Lothíriel said as she received the flowers, though the girl probably understood her as little as the other way around. Odd, how such a simple gift could make one feel suddenly much braver. She smelled the flowers and their pleasant, sweet smell filled her nose. She'd have asked what they were called, but the girl had already ran back to her friends, and she wasn't so sure how she should have made herself understood. Though she was starting to recognise words now after listening to the Marshal's men, it would still take some time for her to be able to actually communicate in Rohirric. The effort of learning a foreign language did not make Lothíriel too excited, but she knew it was expected of her.

After a while, her husband came striding, the pensive look on his face fading as he noticed her. Thankfully, they were saved from an awkward moment by the children who were still standing nearby.

"_Hláford Éomer!" _called one of the boys and dashed to meet him and with a laugh, the tall rider caught the child. Two more ran at him and they all dangled from his arms like from the branches some large tree, all the while howling with laughter. Even the man himself was smiling and the way that look changed his face was astonishing. A smile revealed a younger, gentler man from behind his solemn countenance.

It took some very sharp-sounding commands to a woman who looked like she could be their mother to get the boys off the Marshal. One of them had again spotted Lothíriel and looked at her curiously.

"_Hwá is héo?" _said the boy – it sounded like a question to the Princess.

"_Min wíf, Lýtling. Híe is Hlæfdige Lothíriel", _answered the Marshal and briefly looked at her.

"_Héo is full léoflic. Is héo of ælfcynn?"_

"_Híe faeder is ealdor fram Gondor", _said her husband. He tousled the boy's mop of yellow hair. The woman from before called the boy and casting one last grin at the Marshal, the child ran off to his mother.

"Who was that child, my lord?" Lothíriel asked warily, watching her husband from the corner of her eye.

"Just one of the local children, my lady. He said you're very beautiful and wanted to know if you're one of the elves", he answered, concentrating on securing his stallion's saddle.

"What did you tell him?" Lothíriel asked. At that, her husband turned to look at her properly. There was an expression in his eyes she could not really read, but it brought a curious feeling of weakness to her.

"I could not say", he said quietly, "for I do not know the answer myself."

Blushing, she turned away to hide her face from him. Had the Marshal just called her beautiful?

She was not left to ponder on that, however: they soon continued their journey, and the little village was left behind. Around afternoon, Éothain joined the Princess, as he had made it his habit to spend at least some of the day's ride beside her.

"When will we be arriving to Aldburg?" Lothíriel asked. It felt to her that they had been on the road for an eternity already, and she was thinking of proper beds and baths with longing. The captain smiled.

"If we rode hard, we'd get there by nightfall", he said, "but the Marshal decided we'll stop in the next village and spend the night in an inn there, my lady. We'll ride to Aldburg tomorrow rested and hopefully bathed."

"That sounds nice, yes. I think I could kill for a bath", she said with no small enthusiasm, which made him chuckle.

"I don't suppose you've ever gone this long without one, my lady?" he asked in amusement.

"For a proper princess, this is a nightmare, captain", Lothíriel affirmed. _More than in just one sense. _

"You know, my lady, I don't think it would do you ill if you just called me Éothain like everyone else does", he pointed out gently.

"... Éothain", she said his name, and he smiled.

"It's not too hard, is it?" said the captain jovially. The princess snorted at that and they rode forward in companionable silence.

The evening was turning late when they got to the village where they would spend the night. It was only bit larger than the one from before, but Lothíriel kept her thoughts to herself. At least there was an actual inn there, and she'd get to sleep in a real bed. Strangely enough, the mere thought made her nearly giddy. Truly, when she had left Gondor she wouldn't have believed half of the things she'd miss before they'd even reach Aldburg.

The inn did not have enough rooms for all the men of the Marshal's éored, but apparently they were happy to lay themselves down on any sufficiently warm spot, be it one of benches in the common room or the floor in a guest chamber. The innkeeper, a brown-haired man with large grey eyes, seemed to take enormous pride in the fact that a Marshal of the Mark and a Princess of Dol Amroth were lodging in his establishment for the night, and so he demanded to surrender to them the very chamber that belonged to himself and his wife. Lothíriel would have told the man it wasn't necessary, but her husband gave her a look that advised her to remain silent. So she just thanked the innkeeper for his hospitality.

The common room of the inn filled with the laughter and chatting of men as they settled down to wait for supper. Furnished with wooden tables and benches, it was not a grand hall. The only decoration was provided by flowers from the meadow that were arrayed in green clay vases. It looked like most of the time, the clientele wasn't too varied or exotic.

"It was different in years back, when people travelled to Gondor or came here from the south. The relations have gotten sparse lately, but here's to hoping that will change now that you're here with us, my lady", Éothain explained to the princess and took a long sip of his ale.

The Marshal joined them then, sitting beside his wife. He cast a glance at her, "A bath is being prepared for you, my lady. But perhaps you should eat something first."

"Of course, my lord", she said softly and busied herself with a bowl of stew that seemed to consist of some root vegetable she didn't know and lamb meat. With the stew, dark bread and ale was served, but she found she had little taste for the drink and the bread was so different from the soft light kind they made in Dol Amroth. Suddenly, she intensely longed for the cakes of wheat, dipped in melted butter. But somehow that memory did not make her hungry – only sick with longing for her home.

She forced some food down, though, only half-listening to the men talk. After some time, the innkeeper's wife approached them; in heavily accented Westron, she said the bath was ready. Bowing her head to the Marshal and the captain, she followed the Rohir woman.

She was lead into what looked like the innkeeper's chamber. It was a sunny room, with colourful rugs covering the floorboards. Along with the bed that was just about big enough for the couple (but would probably prove cramped with the Marshal), there was couple of large wooden chests, couple of chairs by a table and a drawer. By the fireplace, a tube was waiting for her, and the mere sight of it there filled her with anticipation. As soon as she had dismissed the innkeeper's wife, she hurriedly started to undress.

Words could not describe the pleasure she felt when she finally settled down in hot water. Lothíriel let out a long, content sigh and leant back her head. The heat helped to soothe her tense muscles, sore from the days of riding. _Blessed be the man who invented hot baths. _

After a moment of enjoying the warmth, she picked up soap and started to wash herself. The Princess found that at the moment she wouldn't have minded using the rose-scented soap she had back home; some would hopefully be brought with her things from Dol Amroth. The thought of the city by the sea almost instantly brought her a wave of homesickness, but she tried not to think of it... and especially not of the fact she had no idea when she'd see her home the next time. So Lothíriel concentrated on the task of getting herself clean. She'd never take things like baths for granted again.

Getting rid of the grime and dust of the journey made her feel better, and she made a note of having to thank her husband for this consideration. But then, as usually, the thought of actually _talking _with him made her feel uneasy. Aredhel would probably have said it was not right to carry on like that, not when she was supposed to trust this man and share her life with him, but for now she certainly would.

Lothíriel was just finishing washing her hair when the door opened and the Marshal entered. _Oh. _Of course they'd share the chamber for the night – she didn't know why she hadn't thought of that before. They had been sleeping together for about two weeks now, and she wondered if it would ever stop feeling so awkward.

He nodded silently at her and sat down on the edge of bed, busying himself with the lacings of his boots. After a foolish moment of hesitation, she got up and started to dry herself. It was ridiculous to feel awkward about nakedness at this point, yet she couldn't help it.

Once dressed in her nightgown, she sat by the other side of the bed and concentrated on drying her hair. As for her husband, he undressed and approached the tub, apparently with the intention of bathing. With incredulous eyes, she looked at him.

"You're not going to use that water, my lord?" she wondered, but he shrugged.

"It'll do. Saves the effort emptying and refilling the tub", he said nonchalantly as he sat down in the already lukewarm water. "Don't look so shocked, my lady. I've had worse baths."

"Of course", she mumbled and returned to attend to her hair. When it was moderately dry, she brushed through it with her fingers and undid the worst tangles. Getting her hair properly brushed was one of the few things she looked forward to in Aldburg.

After a moment of silence, she asked: "Why did you look at me before that way, my lord?"

"Like what, my lady?" he asked back without looking at her."

"When I was going to decline the innkeeper's offer", she said warily. He briefly glanced at her, but his face was the usual mask of reserved seriousness.

"Because when a man offers you his roof and his own bed in Rohan, you don't just refuse", said the Marshal. He returned to the task of washing himself, but continued, "What discomfort they may experience is far surpassed by their pride. Respect that, my lady."

"Oh", was all she could answer, and she fell silent. It was a troubling thing to realise that there was so much she didn't understand about this land and the people who inhabited it. In concern, she thought she'd probably end up bringing shame not only to herself, but to her husband too.

When she was done, she settled down on her side; it would be crammed with her giant of a husband there beside her. Maybe she should ask him go and find some other bed? But then, that was not what a wife told her husband. And who knew how it would be in Aldburg? Perhaps she should just try and get used to contact like having to share small beds. Why couldn't her uncle pick a smaller man for her?

The princess tried to fall asleep, but the sounds of the Marshal moving about made it impossible for her to relax. Finally, she felt the mattress dipping and he lay down behind her. When he placed an arm about her midsection, she froze and thought it was some attempt of his in tenderness or something like that, but then she realised he was just trying to get comfortable. Nonetheless she lay holding her breath, until finally he settled down and she thought she should probably try to relax too.

Lothíriel sighed to herself, hoping that she might fall asleep, if only for an hour or two.

* * *

Éomer was starting to regret his decision to share the chamber and the bed with his wife instead of requesting for a room of his own (or perhaps a place on the floor in the chamber where Éothain slept). The reason for his regret was not because he disliked sleeping beside her. No, the reason was actually the opposite.

Really, what does any hot-blooded male do when they find themselves in a narrow bed, and beside him there is a beautiful woman? And not only that, but her fresh scent is filling one's nose, and the only thing between the naked bodies is her nightgown? In his defence, he did try to ignore it and concentrate on sleeping. However, that proved to be increasingly difficult as the moments dragged by.

She must have noticed too, as she lay too still and quiet to be sleeping. What she was thinking, he could not tell... but he'd be damned if he asked for her again. What horror it must have been for her, to let some wild brute in her bed, and wait for the moment when he'd demand to have her...

Though the warm shape of her body tempted him more than he'd even have known, he realised he did not want this fragile little princess to suffer. But he had no idea of how he could make it easier. She was so foreign, so sophisticated, like a beautiful bird locked in a cage. And he was her jailkeeper.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes for a moment. As if on their own volition, Éomer's hand moved: fingertips barely touching her shoulder, her side, the curve of her hip. Instinct almost had him taking a firm grasp of that hip and turn her around to face him, so that he might kiss her...

He could feel a shiver going through the Princess and he pulled back his hand. He sat up and turned his back at her, and suddenly the regret of all _this _was heavier than ever since he had agreed to marry her. Why could it have been Théodred to marry her instead? His cousin would have known just the kind of thing to say, to console her and make her feel better... but Éomer was just a soldier. Coarse and gruff and no stuff for any princess' dreams. He was _wrong _in so many ways when it came to this young woman he had married.

He was about to stand up, find his clothes and perhaps find some other place to sleep, when suddenly he felt a small hand on his arm. He froze where he was and warily looked over his shoulder.

His wife had sat up and was looking at him with an expression he could not really read.

"Are you going somewhere, my lord?" she asked quietly.

"I thought perhaps you would sleep better if I wasn't..." he muttered, unsure of how to finish that sentence. Humourless little smile vacated her face. There was no joy or lightness there, granted, but it was the actual first time he saw her smiling at him.

"I'm not sure I'll be sleeping much anyway, my lord. It's so unfamiliar here", she said and dropped her gaze. She sighed and pulled up the hems of her gown, revealing her bare white legs. "If my lord husband wants, you can-"

As soon as he realised what she meant, he lifted a hand to interrupt her and tried not to think of how it felt when those legs wrapped about his hips.

"No. You don't have to, Princess", he said quickly._ He'd not make her do it, __not unless__ she asked. _

"We're married, my lord. What is the point of holding back? It wasn't so bad the other night, and... I slept better, at least", she said quietly and looked away.

"My lady..." he started, but never got to finish the sentence, for his words were muffled by a clumsy, slightly frantic kiss.

Indeed, what does a hot-blooded male do when a beautiful woman kisses him?

* * *

The town of Aldburg stood on a green hill, surrounded by farms and fields belonging to the small folk. The town itself was protected by battlements of stone and thick spiked trunks of trees, and on the top of the hill stood the house that was the seat of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. It was more of an hall, really, and even from afar Lothíriel thought it must have been largest building in the town.

"They say King Eorl and his son Brego built Edoras with Aldburg in their mind. You'll see, my lady, once you visit there. Aldburg isn't as grand or big as the capital, but it is the oldest and most important one east of Edoras", Éothain explained as they approached the town.

"And my lord husband's family has always lived here?" asked the Princess.

"It has been the home of Lord Éomer's forefathers since the time of Eorl the Young. Our Marshal claims ancestry back to Eorl's grandson Eofor, who ruled here after the King took his seat to Edoras. Eofor's descendants have been Marshals ever since but for few exceptions", Éothain said.

"What of you, Éothain?" Lothíriel asked, squinting her eyes to see her new home town better, "Do you hail from Aldburg as well?"

"Indeed I do. My family has lived here many generations too, and served under the Marshals", he affirmed.

"Quite the warlike blood you have there", she said and offered him a smile. The captain shrugged.

"If fighting is what is needed, then we do it", he said nonchalantly.

They had set out early that morning, and it seemed like everyone was eager to get to Aldburg. Her husband had been already up and about when Lothíriel herself had come around, like he usually were. Sometimes, she just had to wonder where he got that unending energy of his... or maybe he was just reluctant to face her when the morning came. After all, it had been... well, she wasn't even so sure what it had been. To be perfectly honest, Lothíriel could not tell what had made her reach for him on the previous night. Then again, falling asleep exhausted had been a good thing, and she felt rested in the morning. The last thing she wanted was to be presented to her husband's household looking like she had crawled from under some rock.

As such, she had taken some extra time while dressing that day. She had donned on one of her better gowns and braided her hair. Éothain had given her a large smile and told her everyone would think that the Marshal had brought an Elven Princess with him. She had smiled at the kind captain and said he was exaggerating.

And now, finally, the long journey was coming to an end. In a way, it felt like it had been years since she had left behind the city of her birth. So much had happened, and her life had been so profoundly altered. Would she even know her home when she'd visit there again?

More importantly, what was waiting for her in this town precisely?

They followed the road towards the hill and entered the wooden gates. The guards shouted their greetings for the riders; the Marshal answered them with a wave of his hand.

The look of Aldburg did not largely differ from what she had seen in the villages they had passed by. Houses built of wood, familiar horse motifs, and fair-haired people everywhere... Aldburg was just larger in comparison and it even had a proper market. However, it was no Dol Amroth, and Lothiriel was fairly certain this place could not really have been any more different from her home city than it already was.

As they rode uphill towards the Marshal's Hall, like her husband's house was called, people stopped by the way to greet the riders... and also to curiously look at the woman their leader had brought with him. She kept her eyes strictly ahead, and so she had no idea of what they might be thinking. Suddenly, she worried if she had dressed too grand. Surely they would not appreciate their Marshal's wife parading about ruffling her feathers like some peacock?

Lothíriel was not left to ponder on these things too long, for they had now reached the top of the hill and the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall. Up couple stone steps stood the house itself, and around it were other, smaller buildings: the stables, storerooms, a smithery, dwellings for the members of the Marshal's household and so on. As their arrival had been noticed well before they had even reached the gates of the town, courtyard was already filling with people – doubtlessly gathering here to welcome the house's new mistress. They consisted mostly of that same fair-haired stock, tall and strong and with faces fierce but lively. It felt like all their eyes were fixed on Lothíriel, and suddenly she felt naked under all those gazes. An urge to turn Ǽfnung and ride away briefly came to her, but she forced herself to meet those gazes with serenity any princess could have been proud of. More people appeared from inside and an excited bustle was rising... but then, from her left, Lothíriel could hear it: a bright voice, not really shouting but not whispering either.

"_Faeder! Faeder is hám!" _

Her eyes flew to that direction and she saw a young boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen summers. He was a lanky thing and would probably grow into a man of formidable height. His eyes were sky blue, and his hair dark golden. Though the boy did not have the dark eyes or the grave look on his face, the likeness of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark was unmistakable.

The boy looked like he was about to approach, but then a woman grabbed her and held him back. Quickly, she spoke into his ear and the boy fell back to her side. A frown had come his young face, making him look like the Marshal even more. The woman beside the boy wrapped her arms about his shoulders, staring hard at Lothíriel; with gold-red hair, bright green eyes and oval-shaped face, she was a very beautiful woman. And somehow, the sharp coldness of her expression made her even more striking.

Lothíriel could hear her husband talking in Rohirric and addressing to his household, but she barely even heard him. She was far too busy wondering into what she had gotten herself into... and if it would be easier for her to just ride away when she still could.

* * *

**A/N: **Am I evil for cutting the chapter here? Maybe I am. But to be honest, perhaps not all things are as they seem...

So we have arrived to Aldburg. I fear the proper introductions and getting to know the town will have to wait until the next chapter. Updates are likely be sparse next few days as I'm going away for the easter, so I won't probably have any time for updating this or "Heart's Desire".

As before, I'm not 100% sure I've gotten the Old English parts completely right and I'd love to receive feedback on them! And, as usual, thanks for all the comments! You guys are really making me happy with all your kind words!

* * *

_Fore __sēo __fæger hlæfdige_ = For the fair lady.

_Hwá is héo? = _Who is she?  
_Min wíf, Lýtling. Híe is Hlæfdige Lothíriel =_ My wife, little one. She is Lady Lothíriel.  
_Héo is full léoflic. Is héo of ælfcynn? = _She is very beautiful. Is she of the elves?  
_Híe faeder is ealdor fram Gondor = _Her father is prince from Gondor.

_Faeder is hám!_ = Father is home!

* * *

**1607hannah - **That's pretty much what I attempted for. That scene between them stems very much from this emotional reaction after the shock of battle. Also, I think at that point Lothíriel just wants to let go of everything for a while, and he happens to be there, so...

**mentarisenja - **I'd say both Éomer and Lothíriel are not fans of awkward morning-afters, so they just kind of try to avoid them.

**Talia119 - **Like I already wrote, her reaction does stem from her shock and just needing something to make her forget. I thought for a while whether it's be something to happen and in the end I decide that it would. If anything, I think it makes their relationship at the moment so complex, because on one hand they are not really talking with each other but on the other, they are sharing a bed. It's a weird place but I think it's something that could happen.

As for Hafoc's comment and what it could mean... well, perhaps this chapter gives some water to your mill, but we'll have to wait and see... ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

If anything could be judged by the way Lord Éomer was throwing blows at the dummy, it was that he was probably trying to destroy it for good. The hour was growing late and Éothain would very much have liked to retire with his wife, but he had a feeling there was trouble brewing here that needed to be dealt with as quickly as was possible... at least before the Princess decided she'd send a word for her father to come and get her home.

"My lord", he called the Marshal then, but he had to lift his voice to catch the younger man's attention.

"What is it, Éothain?" Éomer snapped, though at least he stopped hacking at the dummy. Evidently he had been at this task for a while now as he was already sweating hard. But his eyes burned with some strange mixture of anger, shame and regret.

"You know what it is", said the captain calmly. "And to be completely honest, this is not where I thought I'd find you."

"Then what did you think?" asked the Marshal.

"That you would be with your wife, explaining things to her like she deserves", Éothain said gravely. The younger man sighed and his shoulders fell with defeat.

"I would have done that, yes. But when I entered our bedchamber, she looked at me like she'd claw out my eyes if I tried as much as approach her. I don't think she wants to hear anything from me right now", Éomer sighed, putting away his sword.

"Can you really blame her, old friend? It's not a pleasant thing to learn – especially not in the way she did", Éothain said. "I did say you need to tell her about your son, didn't I? And I told you that this is exactly what would happen if you didn't."

"I meant to do that, Éothain", muttered the Marshal, not meeting his friend's gaze, "but the right moment never seemed to come, and... I didn't think he even would be here in Aldburg now. Wasn't he supposed to stay in Edoras for a while?"

"You know just as I do why he is here now, and that was partly the reason I told you to explain everything to your wife before it was too late", Éothain pointed out. "And there were plenty of moments while we were on the road. Are you really that scared of your wife?"

"What was I supposed to tell her, then?! Just go to her, smile nicely, and tell her 'dearest wife, I have an illegitimate son and he lives in our house, hopefully that doesn't bother you'?" Éomer barked and looked just a bit crazed.

"I don't care what you would have told her, as long as you _did", _Éothain said sharply. Seeing the hopeless look on his friend's face, he sighed and continued in a more gentler tone, "Try to look at it from her point of view. Her life has been turned upside down, and then she comes here to live in the middle of strange people, and virtually the first thing he sees is a young boy calling you a father."

"What would you have me do, then?" Éomer asked, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Apologise to her for not telling the truth. Explain why you have a son and that he is no threat to what children you might have together", said the captain. He placed a hand on the Marshal's shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. The younger Rohir glanced at his friend.

"Would that I could", he sighed, "but I don't think she wants to hear anything I have to say. Can't you talk to her? She seems to like you."

"She's probably just as angry at me, for keeping her in shadow", Éothain said. Thoughtfully, he squinted his eyes and stroke his beard. "To be honest, I think a womanly approach is needed here..."

* * *

When the tears had dried, Lothíriel had curled up on the bed and very solemnly started to consider her possibilities, and at the moment she had the best plan in mind. As soon as the sun rose tomorrow, she'd jump in the saddle... no, at first she'd kill her so called husband and then she'd jump in the saddle and ride away. She wouldn't even care if some marauding band of orcs came across her and killed her. In fact, she was fairly sure she'd have _thanked _them for permanently taking care of her problems.

For the hundredth time, she wondered what had gotten into her when she had agreed to do this. Had her uncle even know that the Marshal very much already had a family in Rohan? And what could possibly have made these people think she wouldn't mind being wed to someone who already had a son and might very well have another on the way for all she knew. Oh, Valar!

The moment she had seen the boy's face, she had _known. _The resemblance was just too striking, and what that boy had shouted... _Faeder. _He was the Marshal's son.

And that woman... the way she had wrapped her arms about the boy's shoulders and glared at Lothíriel left little for guessing. No one has such immediate hate for anyone, unless it was because she was the Marshal's mistress. Or worse: the mother of his son.

She was in the middle of these bitter musings when suddenly, someone knocked at the door. Oh, the gall of this man!

"Go away! I don't want to see you!" she shouted in angry frustration and wondered whether he'd finally understand it if she threw something sharp and deadly at him.

"Do you really mean that?" came a voice from behind the door – a friendly, female voice. Then the door opened and a head peaked in. "May I come in, my lady?"

"Who are you?" Lothíriel asked, sitting up on the bed.

The woman at the door smiled and stepped in. She had bright red hair, freckled face, and hazel eyes. Dressed in green, she was somehow an intensely warm sight even in the middle of all these rich colours the Rohirrim favoured. The Princess took note that the woman was with child.

"I am Scýne, wife of Éothain", she said and smiled. "Would you mind it much if I joined you?"

"If you have come to talk with me and tell me that I should just forget everything, then you are-" Lothíriel started hotly, but the woman lifted her hand. Suddenly, her smiling face assumed a determined look.

"I have come to talk with you, yes", Scýne said, "But that is because I thought maybe you'd like to hear what this all is about."

"Frankly, I don't want to hear _anything. _I've seen enough already", snapped the princess. That made the Rohir woman cock her head and lift her eyebrows.

"Really? Then you must be a very far-sighted, my lady, to be able to see all truths just by looking at things", she said calmly. "I understand you are upset and I do not blame you for it. But I would not advise you to stubbornly cling to first impressions... not when the truth behind them is not what you would think."

"Like I said, I've seen enough! Apparently my lord husband has children running around already, and women as well, and somehow he thinks it is all right to bring an unsuspecting princess in the middle of it all!" Lothíriel ranted angrily, and her fury of before threatened to rise anew.

"Not children, my lady, and no women", Scýne said firmly.

"Is that boy not the Marshal's son? And isn't the woman I saw him with the boy's mother?" asked the Princess and stared hard at the captain's wife.

"The answer to your question is yes and no. The boy _is _Éomer's son – he is called Elric. But _she _is not his mother. Nor is she one of your husband's _women, _though she'd doubtlessly like to be", Scýne said dryly. Her expression became gentler then. "I can explain you everything you wish to know, my lady."

"You're his captain's wife. Why should I believe anything you might say?" Lothiriel asked vehemently. Momentarily, the woman's face became hard.

"Because the Rohirrim never lie", she said, her voice strong and stark. That brought back something Fainien had said – how the horselods took pride in their honesty, and the princess realised how she must have just insulted the red-haired woman. Scýne had just tried to be of help and she had behaved like some cave troll! Father would have been so appalled to see her now.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend", she said and her voice fell quiet. "This all just... I don't know what this all even is. And then I see this boy who is obviously his son, and..."

"It's fine, my lady", Scýne said. Again the gentler look came to her freckled face. "I understand."

The princess sighed and looked down for a moment. Then she turned at the Rohir woman again.

"I'd like to hear the truth, if you'd be so kind", she said firmly.

Scýne nodded. She took a chair nearby, placed it on the front of the Marshal's wife and sat down. Then, after considering Lothíriel quietly for a moment, she began to speak.

"Elric is Éomer's son", she started softly, "and he was born ten summers back to a young woman called Fealu."

"He's just ten yers old? I thought he was older", Lothíriel said and frowned.

"People often believe so, yes. He's rather tall for his age, and seems to grow more with each passing day", Scýne said. She continued, "Fealu was a kitchen maid in Meduseld. She was a year older than Lord Éomer, but when Théoden King brought his sister-children to live in his house, Fealu immediately befriended the two orphans, and especially Lord Éomer. I suppose it was an innocent friendship in the beginning, but these things rarely seem to remain that way."

"It was probably inevitable that he should become infatuated with her. They say that Fealu was a beautiful girl, and very lively and laughing. I believe that is true, for while Elric resembles his father in likeness, he is not as solemn as the Marshal is. Be it as may, the two were rather taken with each other and intended to marry. Lord Éomer was sixteen at the time", she explained.

"You speak of this woman as if she were dead", Lothíriel said, narrowing her eyes. Scýne met her gaze seriously.

"That is because she _is _dead, my lady", said the captain's wife quietly, and the princess could barely hold back her gasp.

"What happened to her?" she asked.

"On that sixteenth summer of your lord husband's life, Théoden King ordered him to join the old Marshal Ánfeald's éored – the one here in Aldburg. Orc raids were particularly vicious that year and Marshal Ánfeald left for many months with his riders, to patrol the eastern lands. Lord Éomer went him with as well, leaving Fealu in Meduseld. It was apparently at that time she discovered she was with child. When he was gone, it seems that doubt began to grow on her. She started to think whether Éomer would really marry her, or if he'd abandon her as soon as he heard that she was bearing his child. And then there was the matter of Théoden King", Scýne went on with the story. She sighed long and heavy.

"Our Marshal's uncle had never liked much the relationship between his sister-son and the kitchen maid. I certainly doubt he had any intention of letting them marry. After all, Fealu was just a kitchen maid. And Lord Éomer... his mother was a Princess and his father a Marshal, making him one of the highest-born riders in the land. Not only that, for if anything should ever happen to Prince Théodred, Lord Éomer would be the one to inherit the throne. Men like him, even when they're young, can't just go and marry the first woman that pleases his eye. Fealu must have known all this and realised there was no future for them together. So she ran from Edoras, and she never told anyone where she went or if she'd return."

She fell silent then and glanced at the princess; her hazel eyes were very serious as she began to speak once more.

"When Lord Éomer returned, he heard of her disappearance and went on to look for her. But back then he did not have the resources he has now, and soon Théoden ordered him to return to his post. Lord Éomer thought she had abandoned him and in regret he returned to Aldburg. However, late that winter, Fealu's sister came to Edoras, and she brought with her a small child. She said Fealu had come to stay with her sister and her husband, and they had concealed her while she grew large with child. However, Fealu died in childbirth and her sister could not provide for her son", Scýne continued.

"Lord Éomer was heartbroken, as you can imagine, but he wasted no time in acknowledging the child as his own. No doubt he'd have ridden to Fealu had he just sent for him and wedded her on her deathbed... if only to provide the boy the status of a legitimate child. Théoden King was not pleased of course, but he has only ever loved his sister-children, and so he agreed to take the boy in for the time being. Elric stayed in Edoras until Lord Éomer turned 21, at which time he was already a renowned warrior and it was more or less of a common knowledge that he'd be appointed Marshal after Ánfeald. And so he sent for Elric, whom he has ever called his son", she finished the story.

Lothíriel had sat silent, staring down on her hands while she listened to Scýne speak. She did not know what to feel or think, so for the longest time she remained silent. When she at last talked, her voice was so cold and hard that it even sounded alien to herself.

"I want him gone. I don't want that boy here. He may return to Edoras", she announced.

"You would send a young boy from what little family he has? With all due respect my lady, I would not have thought you'd wish for such thing, especially after you had to leave your own family behind", Scýne said, watching the princess closely. Lothíriel had not even realised that point of view, and she felt intensely uncomfortable.

"I... but he does have an aunt and a great-uncle, doesn't he?" she asked warily.

"Aye, he does. But I do not think you really understand, my lady. Your lord husband watched them bury both his parents, and he knows what it is to grow up without a father. Is it so wrong of him to want to spare his own son from that fate?" asked the red-haired woman, her voice not ungentle.

"Scýne, I..." Lothíriel started, but then she couldn't carry on. Really, she wasn't even so sure of what she should say.

"My lady, you're not asked to claim this boy as your own child. And what children you may ever bear to your husband will not be threatened by his son. No matter how much Lord Éomer loves that boy, what status and riches Elric will possess in this life he will have to win with his own sword. He is, after all, a child born outside the wedlock, and he can only have what his father chooses to provide him with. My lady, it is your son who'll follow Lord Éomer as a Marshal, not Elric", Scýne said calmly. She reached to touch the Princess' hand gently, "I know you're upset, but I'd ask you not to blame your husband. He was barely a man at the time Elric was born, and even grown men are known for making worse mistakes than that. Of course it was wrong of him not to tell you about his son, but he must have had his reasons."

"I see", mumbled the Princess in defeated voice. How could she be angry about something that had happened ten years ago? Having three brothers herself, she knew how reckless and thoughtless young men could be. Yet she could not understand why her husband had not told her about this son of his. That she asked of Scýne as well.

"I can't say for sure", said the red-haired woman, "but if I should guess, I'd imagine he was scared of what you'd say. I don't think he expected Elric would be back in Aldburg yet. You see, the boy has been visiting Meduseld lately, and I suppose your lord husband was thinking he could break it to you gently once you arrived here."

Lothíriel nodded silently, but then she remembered another question that still remained unanswered.

"What of that woman? The one I thought was the boy's mother?" she asked.

"That's Dreda. She was something of a childhood sweetheart of Lord Éomer's, and I suppose one could say she has been biding her time... everyone thought they'd be married sooner or later, especially when she welcomed Elric like a mother would welcome her son. But if you ask me, I'd think Dreda has more affection to Lord Éomer than he has for her", Scýne said carefully. "Of course, only the two of them know the extent of their relationship, but after Fealu... well, Éothain says the Marshal learned his lesson there, and my husband knows him better than anyone. And like I said, the King's nephew doesn't just marry any woman that pleases his eye."

The princess nodded quietly and lowered her eyes again. The captain's wife gave a gentle pat to her knee, and the young woman lifted her eyes to see a friendly smile on that freckled face.

"My lady, if there's nothing more you'd like to talk of with me, then perhaps I could suggest you go to sleep? It's been a long day and the next one will be longer still", Scýne offered.

"You're probably right", Lothíriel agreed. Apparently the fury and spirit was gone from her voice as the captain's wife gave her a gentle, empathetic look.

"It's going to be fine, my lady. Perhaps it's not easy to see how, but it will. And I promise you will not have to be alone", Scýne said, her voice soft and warm.

"You're kind", said the Princess quietly, lowering her eyes to look on her hands.

"And why shouldn't I be? Everyone deserves kindness", Scýne said and stood up. "Now, go to bed, my lady. You look like you could use some rest."

"All right", Lothíriel mumbled and settled down under the covers. The captain's wife hesitated for a moment by the bedside before talking.

"Would you like to sleep alone tonight? Your lord husband is no doubt outside, wondering whether he should come in or not. I can tell him to go and see if his horse will share the stall with him, if you'd like", Scýne said. The princess thought of what to say, and granted, the idea of sending the Marshal to sleep in the stables was tempting. However, this was still technically _his _bed. And what the red-haired woman had said... it would have been petty to cling to her anger after that, wouldn't it?

_You're a woman grown now. You can't behave like a child._

She sighed at last and cast a look at the woman standing next to the bed.

"You can tell him he may come in", she said quietly, and it seemed to bring a smile to Scýne's face.

"As you wish, my lady", she said and briefly rested a hand on Lothíriel's arm. "Good night."

"Good night", answered the princess and pulled the covers better over herself.

Scýne exited and a short quiet fell in the chamber. But not long after, the door was opened again and she recognised her husband's heavy steps. He shuffled about for a moment, probably undressing, but she didn't turn around or open her eyes to look. Then he settled down behind her back, and the silence fell long.

Finally, he spoke: "I am sorry."

* * *

The light of day brought her back from the realm of dreams. Sunrays tickled her face, but Lothíriel was feeling sleepy and warm and the bed was so comfortable that she thought she might fall asleep again. She should get up soon, though; Father always disliked it when she slept late... maybe she could go out for a walk then...

But something was wrong with that thought. She'd not see her father this morning, nor would she take a customary walk by the sea, because Father and seaside were far away and she was in Rohan, in her marital bed, and the times for her father to disapprove of her sleeping late were past.

Somewhat reluctantly, Lothíriel opened her eyes and spotted her husband standing by the window, gazing out in silence as the sunlight bathed him in gold. Every morning since now, he had been up and about way before her, and for a moment she wondered if she should wait for him to leave now too. But the Marshal remained by the window, and she realised it was because he was waiting for her to wake up.

The talk she had dreaded last night as soon as he had settled beside her would have to take place now. And though the more childish part of her would rather have liked to run away, Lothíriel knew this was something they needed to speak of. So she sat up and stretched, and the man she had wed turned to look at her.

His expression was wary as he studied her, and a long moment of silence went by before any word was spoken. Then he cleared his throat, and said: "I've sent for breakfast. Could I perhaps ask you to share it with me, my lady?"

The Marshal hesitated then, and when he continued, his voice was softer, "I understand Scýne told you the things I should have explained before we arrived. I... if you have any questions, I could answer them."

_Well. _There was no really averting this conversation, was there? Maybe it was better to have in broad daylight at least.

"All right", was what she managed quietly. For a moment, she busied herself with getting up and dressing, but all too soon they were sat by a table with some breakfast on the front of them. Food consisted of some porridge sweetened with honey, tea, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, and cheese.

After a moment of silence, her husband spoke: "What exactly did Scýne tell you, my lady?"

"She spoke to me of your son, my lord", Lothíriel answered. Somehow, the accusing tone crept to her voice. She looked up at the man sitting across her, "but I still wonder why my lord husband did not tell me of this boy."

The Marshal winced.

"I know I should have told you about Elric, my lady", he admitted. "I suppose I was just worried for what you'd say. I did not wish to upset you. After all the ways your life had been changed... it seemed wrong to also bring you the information about my son."

He sighed and looked down on his plate. He continued, "I didn't expect him to be here now anyway. It's not the way I intended to tell you... but he had returned sooner than intended."

"Does he really have to be here, my lord?" Lothíriel asked, trying hard to keep the sound of petulance from her voice. At her question, her husband's eyes flashed in quick temper.

"He's my son and I will not send him away", he said sharply, and the cutting edge of it surprised her. Lothíriel blinked and sunk back, and he noticed; when he spoke again, it was with a softer tone. "He is my responsibility, my lady. And if I do not provide for him, no one will."

"Did you love her, my lord? The woman who bore him?" she asked, and she did not even know where that question came from. However, it was out before she could stop herself from speaking. Lothíriel could feel her husband's eyes on her but she didn't dare lift her own gaze to meet his.

"Like any boy of sixteen loves a woman", he said at last. His voice was colourless and she couldn't tell what he actually meant by that. She realised it was a topic better left undiscussed... at least for now.

"Lady wife, if you gave him a chance, you'd see that he's a good lad. He's been just as excited about your arrival as the others, and your good favour would mean the world to him", he tried.

"If he thinks he has received some mother in me-" started the princess hotly, but he lifted his hand to interrupt her.

"Fine. I'll tell him to keep from your way. You won't have to deal with Elric, my lady", said the Marshal, his voice turning colourless again.

"And should I expect my lord husband to have other children I do not know of? Or maybe unwedded wives?" she asked; there was venom in those words she had not meant to speak, and the effect of them was immediate. Her husband's face became hard and his mouth a thin line.

"No. Elric is the only one", he said coolly. "Nor do I make it my habit to jump from one bed to another. You might not know me very well, my lady, but I'm still surprised you'd assume that of me."

Lothíriel lowered her eyes once more and sudden shame filled her for speaking like that. Her sense told her to apologise, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to speak.

"Wife, when I fastened that cloak on your shoulders, I swore you my protection and my loyalty. They are yours to command as long as there is living breath left in me. You can trust in that, Princess. I'm a man of my word", he said quietly.

She desperately tried to think of something to say at that, but again she found herself speechless. What did one even answer to an oath like his? However, she never did get to answer, for someone knocked at the door and the Marshal went to see what it was about. At the door, he exchanged some words in Rohirric with one of his riders. When he turned around to look at his young wife, his face had become stark and determined.

"There has been some orc sightings and people from Eastemnet have called for our help. It seems I have to go and take care of this right away, lest lives are lost for orcish steel", he said and his voice betrayed no emotion. Momentarily, his eyes softened. "I am sorry for having to leave you so soon, my lady, but I can't dismiss this."

"Do your duty, lord husband", Lothíriel mumbled quietly. She did not know why, but that moment she felt more lonely than she ever had before.

Less than half an hour later, she watched the Marshal and his men ride away.

* * *

Mistress Bierwén had been the chatelaine of the Marshal's household for years now. She was a woman of formidable height and though her red hair was turning grey, she was highly energetic and diligent mistress. Her husband had died some years ago, but three of their children survived: her daughter was none else than Scýne and two of her sons, Silfbár and Salufox, rode with Lord Éomer. Dressed in bright red gown, orange apron, and numerous little objects hanging from her belt, she was a woman of impressive presence. She had a loud voice as well and Lothíriel felt no little amount of intimidation when she was introduced to the woman.

Before, she had feared Bierwén would feel like the princess had come to steal her place; however, at the sight of the young mistress of the house, the Rohir woman had smiled brightly and given her a motherly hug.

"Béma be kind! What a lovely little thing you are!" Bierwén had exclaimed in heavily accented Westron. Her smile grew ever larger, "I always knew our Marshal was a lucky one. He was born under some blessed stars – I was there on the night he entered this world and saw for myself. But to ride to Gondor and bring back a beam of the moon as his wife! Aldburg grows fairer for your presence, my lady."

Lothíriel blushed at that, unsure of what to answer.

"_Módor! _You embarrass the Princess", Scýne said and gave Lothíriel a gentle smile. "Don't mind her. She's the most efficient chatelaine you'll find in all of the Mark, as long as you put up with these things she blurts out."

Bierwén paid no heed to her daughter's words. She smiled at the princess, "Now, would you like us to give you a tour of your new home?"

Marshal's Hall indeed was the largest building in Aldburg. It's center was the feasting hall, where the Marshal also had his audiences and held his court. The tables and benches were easily moved away, so that the hall could be used for feasts or even dancing. The men of the Marshal's éored would dine there every day, and for the lord of the house and his honoured guests a dais was set at the end of the hall. Pillars carved of wood supported the high ceiling – a structure similar, they said, to that of the Golden Hall of the King. During daytime, the windows up there would illuminate the hall and evenings, torches and lamps were lit. Behind the dais, banners hung. As the Marshal was a member of the royal house, King Eorl's White Horse was shown there too. Elaborate tapestries and cloths decorated the walls, glowing in warm earthly colours that the Rohirrim also favoured in their clothing.

The kitchens were behind the hall and Bierwén introduced the princess to the people working there. It wasn't even half as big as the kitchens back in her home, but it wasn't any less of a bustle there. The house also had the Marshal's quarters, where Lothíriel herself lived too now that she was his wife. There were several other chambers, some of them permanently held for such as Lady Éowyn, and rooms for the Marshal's guests.

However, one of the most striking instances of that whole day was when Bierwén introduced Lothíriel to Eadmod, her husband's grandmother.

The old woman had seen over 80 summers, and she had buried her husband and all of her children. Of her offspring, late Marshal Éomund had been the only one to live to adulthood, and he too had now been dead for 15 years. Though the ancient woman was very frail and mostly blind, she did not seem like one might have expected after hearing of her life and the loved ones she had lost.

"She has suffered much but she lives on unrelenting and unbending. After Lord Éomund and his wife Théodwyn died, Eadmod insisted she take care of their children – and that they stay in the town of their birth. But Théoden wouldn't have any of it, and so she had to move to Meduseld to be close to her grandchildren. She has never really forgiven the King for that... but she dotes on Lord Éomer, and she has been very eager to meet you, my lady", Scýne said quietly before they stepped in the old woman's chamber.

As soon as they entered the door, a voice came: "Where is she? Where's the Princess?"

By the window in an armchair sat an old woman. Her long white hair had been braided, and under the light streaming in from the windows it shone like freshly fallen snow. Her face was wrinkled and a milky film covered her blue eyes. Her hand, covered with age spots and gnarled by time, grasped enthusiastically at air as if she was trying to grab the Princess. Scýne gave the younger woman an encouraging pat at her back and warily she approached her husband's grandmother. It appeared that Eadmod's ears were just as keen as ever, for she seemed to know someone was coming towards her.

"Is it you? Is it my grandson's wife?" Eadmod asked; carefully, Lothíriel took the old woman's hand in her own.

"It is me, Lady Eadmod. I am Princess Lothíriel", she said. The wrinkled face broke into a large smile.

"Come closer, will you? I'd like to take a proper look at you", said the old woman, and as soon as her hands fell on Lothíriel's face, she understood what Eadmod had meant by taking a proper look. Gently, carefully, the old woman felt her face and her hair, with a very concentrated look on her face.

"Did they give my grandson an Elven lady? No, but your ears aren't like theirs, so you must be a daughter of Men. You're a pretty one, Princess", Eadmod said. She let out a laugh that somehow succeeded in being both ancient and young at the same time. "Another Princess in this family! There is something strange about the men of Lord Éomer's line, let me tell you that. Now, is that grandson of mine treating you well?"

Lothíriel cast a confused look at Scýne, who stood nearby. The red-haired woman shrugged silently, and the princess turned back to the old woman.

"I... I suppose he is", she stammered, which made Eadmod frown.

"Is that a yes or no, girl?" she asked. "If he's giving you hard time, you should just tell me. He may be stubborn as a rock but surprisingly he does listen to me every now and then. That damned temper of his – inherited from his dear grandfather, I fear..."

Eadmod patted Lothíriel's cheek gently. She smiled, "You two are going to have some very fair children, if you ask me. Oh, may Béma be so merciful that I would get to live that day!"

"I'm sure you will, my lady", Lothíriel said, feeling more than just a little bewildered. The old woman let out another laughter.

"That depends on you two, I think! Aye, I hope you're giving that matter all your attention... And please, do call me Grandmother or just Eadmod, will you? You are the mistress of the house now, after all, and I'm just an ancient thing", said the Rohir woman.

"Of course", Lothíriel said and blinked. Her husband's grandmother was a most bewildering woman... but then, many of the people she had met so far seemed so different to what she was used to.

"Now, I'd ask you to tell me of your home – they said you actually used to live by the sea – but I'm sure young Bierwén and Scýne here are busy showing you around and you don't have time for sitting here entertaining an old woman. But we'll have proper talk later, aye?" said Éomer's grandmother, smiling as she spoke.

"We will do that, my l- Eadmod", Lothíriel promised. Though her husband's grandmother certainly was a special woman, she did feel they were going to get along well.

After leaving the old lady of Aldburg, Bierwén and Scýne lead Lothíriel out to show her the outbuildings. As in the kitchens, the yard bustled with life as people went about in their chores. Many of them stopped to greet her or introduce themselves if they knew enough Westron. Much of translation duties fell on Scýne's shoulders as she was the most fluent in that language. Lothíriel also met with Master Oferlof, to whom she had already been introduced last night before she had pleaded ill and exhausted; the elderly Rohir was in charge of running the town when the Marshal was away.

"Aren't the people sad to see the Marshal go so soon?" Lothíriel asked Scýne in a low voice when they made their way towards the stables.

"Of course we'd like to keep him here after he has been away in Gondor, but people here in Aldburg know that he and his riders are sorely needed in the small villages and borderlands", said the older woman. She cast a thoughtful look at the princess. "You might want to know that his duties often take him away for some time. With the orcs attacking our lands, the Marshal is much preoccupied with patrols."

"I suspected as much", Lothíriel said quietly. She had no idea of which one would be worse: find herself trapped with a stranger of a husband with whom she could barely carry a polite conversation or feel lonely in a marriage in which the other party was mostly away, busy with his duties as a Marshal.

"Don't worry, my lady. Running the household and looking after your children will leave you little time to mope over him, and it will be all the sweeter when he comes home", Bierwén said lightly, but Scýne cast a pointed look at her mother, which the older woman quickly picked up.

Scýne promised they'd go down to see the town the next day; for now, it seemed like the sky was promising rain and exploring Aldburg would have to wait for a more favourable weather. So they turned to return back inside, but when they were about to enter, their way was cut. There, in the middle of the doorway, the woman called Dreda stood. Tall and proud she was, and staring hard at Lothíriel. Nothing about her posture implied she might make way any time soon.

"Could you perhaps make way?" asked the princess. Though an irrational instinct was telling her to turn and look away from this woman, she held her ground: she had not come here to grovel in the front of some woman of her husband's. She was a Princess of Dol Amroth, of the blood of Númenor and the men of the west, and she would not be intimidated in her own house! So she stood a bit straighter and met Dreda's gaze as calmly as she was able.

The Rohir woman did not move, however. She said something in her own language, which Lothíriel did not understand of course. The princess briefly glanced at Scýne, expecting her to translate. Both hers and her mother's face had become stern. When Bierwén spoke, her voice was sharp, even angry. Lothíriel thought she heard her husband's name among the chatelaine's words but she couldn't tell for sure.

Whatever it was that Bierwén said did seem to have the hoped effect, as Dreda stepped aside and let the women pass. When they went inside, Lothíriel looked at Scýne and asked: "What did that woman say? And what did your mother tell her?"

Scýne cringed.

"Dreda said something she has no business saying, and my mother just reminded her of her place", said the captain's wife quietly. She rested a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder, "Don't let her walk over you, my lady. You're the mistress of the house, not her."

"I wish it was that easy", Lothíriel muttered quietly. Scýne gave her an empathetic look.

"You could ask your lord husband to tell her to stay away from you", she offered.

"No. I can't do that. I can't have him fight my battles for me, and I don't want to look like I'm scared of her", said the princess and shook her head.

She tried to smile then and asked to see the kitchens again. But even if she was wearing her brave face, to herself Lothíriel thought there would yet be many more confrontations with Dreda, and this one had just been one of the lighter ones.

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Hope this answers your questions about the mysterious duo we met at the end of last chapter. Elric indeed is Éomer's son, but Dreda is not his mother. And she might be even more unhappy about this situation than Lothíriel is.

I know this is not what you expected and some of you readers even expressed displeasure at this particular development. I did ponder about it and even thought whether Elric could be Éomund's son, but in the end I decided to make him Éomer's. For one, I think it introduces an interesting angle to the situation and it's not something you see in fics. Not to mention it's something I've not done before and as a writer, I do want to try out different things every now and then. Elric was conceived and born when Éomer himself was a young rider, and we all make mistakes and poor choices in our youth... it's certainly not something that the older Éomer would do.

Just to clear out any possible confusions: Éothain is married to Scýne, who is the daughter of Bierwén, the chatelaine of Marshal's Hall. Eadmod is Éomer's paternal grandmother, i. e. Éomund's mother. As with Éomer having illegitimate children, one doesn't often see fics where other family members than Éowyn and Théoden still live. I was even thinking Eadmod might be somehow related to Éothain, but I'm not sure about that yet - maybe she's his great aunt or something.

Thanks for reading and for your comments!

* * *

**Talia119 - **Like Scýne says here, he would probably have wedded Fealu had he gotten the chance. But due to some misunderstandings and the overall air of disapproval made it so that he wasn't able to do that. Even if Fealu had not run away, I'm not sure Théoden would have allowed his nephew to marry her.

**mentarisenja - **Your calculations are right of course. But when Lothíriel thinks Elric is around 12-13, she actually estimates too much. Later she learns that Elric is just 10 years old but he appears older because of his height. Tolkien noted that Morwen Steelsheen's descendants were often tall of stature and graceful, and I'd imagine that Éomer's children would inherit his height too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The day had been long and wearisome. The Marshal and his men had ridden for the most of it and despite of the rain. However, they had not seen any orcs on their way, not even a footprint of one. It felt like a wild goose-chase and Éomer suspected what orcs there had been in the eastern parts had already passed back to their own land. However, he knew they couldn't just turn back, not when they had come all this way from Aldburg.

So the Marshal had decided they'd spent at least few more days patrolling, in case they did come across these orcs that had been ravaging the land. It was truly frustrating to know that this very moment, there could be a band of enemy's servants marauding the lands, and he might very well have enough men to take care of them for good. If only there was some way of seeing over the plains and through the hills and know where the riders were most needed! Éomer had sent some scouts and hoped they'd at least bring more light to the situation.

Wrapped in his cloak, he stared into the flames of the camp fire and his thoughts were once again returned to the matter of his wife. In all honesty, he had never realised just how deeply the knowledge of Elric would hurt her. Children born outside the wedlock weren't really that uncommon in the Mark and people rarely thought of them twice. Of course, such children did not have the same status as those born of marriage, but they weren't loved any less by their parents. Perhaps it was understandable that he hadn't expected his wife to react so strongly... but then, she came from a different culture. And not just that: she was a princess and likely had a very strong idea of her own value. Of course she'd be upset to learn he already had a son, and he had been an idiot to think she wouldn't mind.

He sighed and lowered his head, wondering to himself how he should ever fix this. If his earlier misgivings had not made her wish to call for her brothers, now she surely was thinking of it. And once her father learned... at the moment, Éomer wouldn't even have been too surprised if Prince Imrahil demanded to nullify the marriage.

"I swear, seeing you untroubled and smiling is about as common as seeing horses learn to fly", Éothain commented as he fell down to sit beside the Marshal. "I take it you're whipping yourself over your wife?"

"What else?" Éomer muttered darkly, not turning to look at his friend. "If I ever find a way to reconcile with her now, it'll be a wondrous thing."

Éothain sighed.

"Well, there are only so many times one can say 'I told you so'. Did you apologise to her at least?" he asked.

"I did, but a simple 'I'm sorry' is not going to fix anything. Not to mention this call for help couldn't have come on more inconvenient time. I should be home and trying to make it up to her", said the Marshal quietly. "I don't want to hurt her, Éothain. But that is all I ever seem to do."

"Maybe she just needs time. After all, she has been forced to accept a lot of things in a very short span of time", Éothain said, wrapping his cloak tighter about himself. He glanced at the Marshal, "You'll have to deal with Dreda, though."

"I know", Éomer sighed and grimaced. That was certainly something he didn't look forwards to. "I never made promises to her, but... you know how she is."

"Aye. The woman thinks you belong to her, more or less", Éothain agreed. "That's going to become a problem, Éomer. She won't have the Princess where she thinks she should be herself if she can somehow help it."

"I should have made sure she understood my position before we left for Gondor. I tried to talk to her, but... it looks like she didn't really listen", said the younger man. Suddenly, he felt intensely uncomfortable, and wanted to jump on saddle and race back to Aldburg. Who'd look after his wife if not him?

"Scýne and Bierwén will take care of the Princess while you're gone. They know Dreda as well as we do", Éothain reassured him. "But you'd do well if you made your stance clear to her as soon as we go home. It's not only Dreda who needs to understand where you stand. And I should think you need to have a long talk with Elric, lest she turns the lad against your lady wife."

"You think she'd do that?" Éomer asked, feeling worried now. He hadn't even thought Dreda would do that. But then, it was easy to be blind to the misgivings of people one had affection for.

"Béma only knows what she would do. They say there's no fury like a woman scorned, and I tend to agree with that sentiment", said the captain. "Elric is a good lad, aye, but you need to tread carefully with him. He knows his place and that Lothíriel's children will always come before him, and that is a difficult thing to accept for anyone. It is important that he learns to love your other children once they come. Your son could be their biggest enemy or their most loyal friend."

"Hmm. You're right", Éomer agreed at length. "When did you become so wise, my friend?"

"I always was, old fellow", Éothain said lightly. "It's not my fault you never noticed."

The Marshal snorted.

"As a matter of fact, I think it _was _your fault. Before Scýne came along, your wisdom was hiding in a barrel of ale along with your face", he commented dryly, but it only made Éothain laugh.

"I suppose that's not entirely untrue, my great and mighty Marshal", he said. He patted Éomer's arm. "Try to sleep. And try to think of what to tell your wife and your son. It's important that you do."

"That I will", said the Marshal quietly, already knowing that it was not sleep he'd have tonight.

* * *

Lothíriel's first days in Aldburg were rather busy and she barely had time to stop and catch breath. Much of her time was consumed by getting to know her new home and the tricks of running the house. Though she did know in theory how a large household such as her husband's was run, many things were done differently here than back in Dol Amroth. There was also the matter of language barrier, and much of the conversations needed to be translated either by Scýne or Bierwén, who never left her side.

When she wasn't busy with the running matters or just generally familiarising herself with her new home, Lothíriel would join Eadmod for lessons in Rohirric. It seemed to be great entertainment for the old woman and she also had the patience and wisdom to make her a very good teacher. Indeed, the Marshal's grandmother appeared to have energy for unending lessons, and when she was instructing the princess, she would completely forget about the passage of time.

As the Marshal had promised, Elric did stay away from the princess, but sometimes she could catch the boy glancing at her with looks that somehow reminded her of longing. But then Dreda would appear by the boy's side and give the princess one of those venomous looks of hers, and Lothíriel would turn away. Really, she could understand disappointment, but this? She was fairly sure she didn't deserve such reaction. And there was also the fact that she'd gladly have exchanged places with the Rohir woman. Then again, she didn't know if saying that would have made anything better. In fact, it might have just angered Dreda even more.

At least the people of Aldburg seemed moderately nice. When she went about in the Marshal's Hall and in the town, they'd give her smiles, bow their heads or even make clumsy curtsies. And some of the younger girls gave rather envious looks of longing at her dark hair; once, she let one of them touch it, and the girl would stroke it for a long while and sigh in yearning.

Lothíriel had thought it would be a relief to have the Marshal's chambers all to herself and sleep alone for a change, but it was actually kind of odd not to have him there. No matter what difficulties they had between them, the princess realised she had started to grow used to his presence and the heat his warm body always provided even if she wasn't touching him. The sounds and smells of the unfamiliar house did not help her to fall asleep either, and she'd lay for a long time listening to the silence.

On the other hand, the time he was away provided her with time to think of what had happened. The more she pondered about it and observed the Rohirrim, the more she began to understand he had probably thought nothing of the matter of his son. Ever since, she had come across at least two riders and one woman who had all been born out of wedlock, and no one treated them different for it. They participated the chores among the others, talked and laughed and lived as one of the people of Aldburg.

It wasn't something that would have been lightly received in Gondor, and Lothíriel knew her father well enough to understand he'd have been very appalled to hear of this. As a matter of fact, she felt he might even have refused to give her hand in marriage had he heard of the Marshal's son. It was a curious clash of two cultures: the Rohirric representatives hadn't probably even thought that the bridegroom's illegitimate child could provide any problem.

Then, on the third day after the Marshal had ridden out, one of the men approached the princess when she was in the middle of talking with Bierwén about some everyday matter.

"My lady, a messenger just arrived with a message from Prince Théodred. He is arriving to the town later today, before sunset he hopes", said the guard and bowed his head. At first Lothíriel felt confusion, but then she realised that as the mistress of the house, the duties of organising accommodations and receiving the prince fell on her shoulders. This wasn't how she'd have thought to be introduced to her husband's kin. Then again, the Prince probably thought the Marshal was in town and was riding to meet him.

"Does he ride with a large entourage?" she asked.

"Just two dozens men, my lady", answered the man, and she gestured for him to go.

She looked at Bierwén, "Does the Prince often come here?"

"Every now and then, yes. He and your husband are close as brothers", said the older woman. "Don't worry about meeting him, my lady. Prince Théodred is a good man, and more sociable than the Marshal."

"Hmm", was all Lothíriel answered to that. "Does he have chambers here? I suppose they should be readied for him. He'll probably want to bathe, and his men should be looked after too."

Bierwén smiled and nodded.

"Of course. Go and have that lesson with Eadmod – I'll take care of everything, and you can come and see for yourself later", she said and gently patted the princess' shoulder. "You're doing very well, my lady."

"I'm glad that someone thinks that", Lothíriel said quietly and hurried off before the chatelaine could say more.

* * *

Had she not known it beforehand, Lothíriel might never have guessed that Prince Théodred was actually a cousin to her husband. He didn't even look like what one might expect of a people who were famous for their fair hair. He wasn't as tall or strongly built as his cousin, and his looks were dark rather than light. But Lothíriel recognised the grey eyes and dark hair of her own people, and remembered that his grandmother had hailed from Lossarnarch. Though he looked like he had aged prematurely, he was a nice-looking man and his grey eyes were warm and kind, if a bit sad.

Eventually she noticed there was something about the Prince's lips and cheekbones that reminded her of the Marshal, and the way this man walked was not entirely unlike either, though her husband had a longer stride.

Lothíriel was waiting for the royal guest along with Master Oferlof and Bierwén on the steps of the Hall. The Prince met their eyes, but then his gaze stopped at her. She wasn't sure of course, but it seemed to her that his eyes widened just slightly. She couldn't check because then he had reached them and nodded his head as a greeting.

"Welcome to Aldburg, my lord", said the princess and curtsied, as a proper lady was wont to.

"Thank you, my lady. I take it I have the honour of addressing to Princess Lothíriel, my cousin's wife?" Théodred asked.

"That is right, my Prince", she answered. "I'm sorry to inform you that my lord husband is not in residence. He's out riding patrols and hunting some orcs sighted by the villagers. You're welcome to stay under our roof, however."

"That I'd do gladly, if only to get to know my cousin's new wife", said the Prince. "And perhaps the Marshal might return soon. Would it be fine by you if I stayed here for a day or two?"

"Of course. Family and kin are always welcome here", Lothíriel said and offered the man a small smile. "Might my lord perhaps want to bathe and dine after your journey?"

"I'd appreciate that, my lady", he answered and smiled as well.

Half an hour later, the Prince was sat at the dais and his men vacated the tables where the Marshal's men usually sat. After a bath, Théodred's long hair hung wet on his shoulders and he had gotten rid of his armour. As the lady of the house, Lothíriel served the royal guest as he dined. Apparently that was the custom here in Rohan; in Gondor, it would have been unheard of to a Princess of a great house to serve anyone... which meant she had no training for this at all. Bierwén had said it was a great honour when Lothíriel had wondered out loud if there were no servants in the house. Maybe she'd one day even understand what the chatelaine had meant by that.

Be it as may, she was not the most agile or skilled in pouring the ale and offering the servings to the Prince, but he never commented on her skills. Rather, he'd give her warm smiles and thank for her service. At least he was kind enough not to pursue any conversation while she was concentrated on not spilling food and drink all over him.

When the Prince had eaten, he pushed his plate away and took a long sip from his mug of ale.

"Please, sit down with me for a while, my lady. I'd like to hear how you are settling down here in Aldburg", he said, and Lothíriel sat down beside him as the servants came to clear away the dishes.

"I... I'm settling down, yes. I'm still trying to get used to everything, my lord", she said carefully. Bierwén had said the Prince was like a brother to the Marshal, and she didn't want the man spilling to his cousin any stories of how unhappy she was.

"It must have been quite a change, Princess. I must say, you're very brave for daring to come and live here with a man you haven't even met before", Théodred noted, watching her intently.

"Brave", she repeated, the words blurting out before she could think of them, "or just stupid."

That made the Prince smile.

"It's rather funny how often the two are one and same thing", he commented dryly. Lothíriel looked away and suddenly wanted to kick herself. Hadn't she just decided not to make this man think she was anything else than content?

He studied her quietly for a while, idly fingering the foot of his mug.

"I hope people here have at least received you well, my lady?" he asked then.

"Everyone has been very friendly, my Prince", she said somewhat monotonously. She fought for a livelier tone, and even succeeded in summoning it: "Lady Bierwén has been very helpful in showing me how things are done here. Without her and Lady Scýne I'd probably be lost."

"Good. I'm glad to hear they have taken you under their wing", Théodred said. "How do you find my cousin? Granted, he's a soldier to his very fingertips, but hopefully not too coarse for a well-bred princess."

"We get along perfectly well", Lothíriel answered, her voice turning reserved at his words. The Prince tilted his hands and searched her face thoughtfully, almost making her feel like he was reading her mind.

"Hmm. I'm sure the political reasons for bringing you here as a bride were valid, but I still wonder if it still was such a good choice after all", he said quietly, leaning his cheek on his hand.

"My lord, I can handle myself", she said, sharper than she had intended.

"I don't doubt that, Princess. Though we have only just met, my heart tells me that if anyone can weather here, it is you", Théodred said softly. "But it's not going to be easy or painless, I fear."

Unsure of what to say, Lothíriel looked away.

"Don't worry for me, my lord. We Gondorians are made of stronger stuff than the Rohirrim even realise", she said and lifted her chin.

"I can see that, my lady", Théodred said and a strange little smile graced his lips. He bowed his head to her, "I'd like to converse longer, but I believe I must go and speak with Lady Eadmod. My cousin Éowyn sent some words for her, and I don't want to keep her waiting. My cousin's grandmother is quite fond of Lady Éowyn."

"Of course, my lord", Lothíriel said and stood up. "If there is anything you need, just let one of the servants know. I am at your service."

The Prince nodded, got up on his feet, and went along his way. Pensively, she looked after him. There went the man she'd have married had the original plan gone through... and she had no idea if the eventual developments were for better or worse.

* * *

Prince Théodred was not a bothersome guest at all. Some visitors required company and entertainment all waking hours, but the King's son seemed content in his own devices. After breakfast, he went for a lengthy ride and had a stroll in the town's markets. Later Lothíriel also heard he had engaged the Marshal's son for a sparring session... which was something to make the boy beam blissfully for the rest of the day, as was evidenced by his expression on the supper that evening. Though she tried to pay as little attention to the boy as she could, her husband's son was not easily ignored.

As the royal guest seemed to be happy to entertain himself, Lothíriel barely saw him that day as her own time was mostly spent with Bierwén and Scýne. She had sat with him for a while last night before retreating to bed, and he had been eager to hear of her home land and of her family. In turn, Théodred had spoken of his father and cousin Éowyn, and of life in Rohan. The Crown Prince himself mostly resided in Hornburg, a fabled fortress she had heard of too, from where he guarded the western lands of the realm. It had been a fascinating talk, but also something to fill her with doubt. With Théodred, Lothíriel found herself connecting in a way she hadn't so far done with her husband. Though the Prince certainly was much older than her, she barely remembered the age gap when she spoke with the man. Had her father made the wrong choice when he had agreed to give her hand in marriage to the Marshal instead of the Prince?

However, now was too late for regret, and so Lothíriel did her best to push those thoughts away from her mind. The last thing she needed was a multitude of what ifs driving her to the point of insanity. As such, it was probably a good thing that she was preoccupied with other things than the Prince.

That night was warm, just as the day had been – well, as warm as it got on these windy plains. But for the evening, the wind had settled and there was a feeling in the air that spoke of summer. As soon as she had seen that everything was running smoothly and the Prince was sufficiently entertained by conversing with Oferlof, Lothíriel ventured out to enjoy a moment of solitude and silence. The sun had already set and the moon was riding high, colouring the green plains with silver. From the steps of the Marshal's Hall, one could watch the lands expand to every direction. It was a foreign view to someone who had grown up by the sea, but she had to agree it was beautiful.

Watching the plains of the Mark, her mind eventually wandered off and she thought of the man who was somewhere out there, riding after orcs. Eadmod had told her not to worry about the Marshal; apparently he was considered one of the finest warriors in all of Rohan. But then, his own father had ridden to battle and returned on his shield. And the Marshal was just one man among many, not any more immortal than others. He could very well be dead already for all she knew.

Wouldn't that have meant her freedom, then? She could have returned home, a widow at eighteen... Thinking of her husband, she understood she did not want him dead. He might very well be a silent, ungentle man, but she didn't think he was a bad one. People didn't talk of bad men with the esteem she had heard in the voices of his people here in Aldburg. Even if he wasn't what a young woman might have wanted in her husband, it wasn't like she had much choice about it now... and perhaps Aredhel and Fainien had been right to say that things like affection would come in time. The princess just didn't have any idea of how immediate that future might be.

Her thoughts were interrupted by quiet steps and Prince Théodred came to stand beside her. Up close, it was easy to see how much more aged he looked when compared to his energetic cousin. Even in the light of torches, she could see the grey on his temples and the tired look in his eyes ta would appear there every now and then.

"Is everything fine, my lady?" he asked, and she felt his gaze on her. "Do not worry for your husband. He's a fine warrior, and known for smarting out battles that would have claimed the lives of lesser men."

"I know", she answered, "I have all faith in his skills as a warrior... especially after they saved my life."

"Yes, I heard of the orcs you encountered on your way from Gondor", he said, turning to watch the plains as well. He asked: "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It is, my lord", Lothíriel answered quietly, staring off to distance.

"But it's not the sea", he mused, half to himself. "I suppose one doesn't need to ask you miss your home."

Not trusting her voice, the princess nodded mutely. After a moment of silence, she spoke: "The worst thing is I don't know when I get to go there the next time – or see my family."

She wrapped her arms about herself and sighed deep as she thought of the faces of her father, her brothers and her sisters-in-law. Did they miss her like she missed them?

Lothíriel was brought back from her thoughts when the Prince gently placed his cloak about her shoulders.

"Like I said, my lady. You _are _brave", Théodred said softly. She glanced at him and saw a strange look on his face. He said, "and Rohan would have been fortunate to have such a queen."

Eyes wide, she turned and stared at him. Was he saying what she thought he was? At least the look on Théodred face seemed to imply so, as there was something like yearning there. Then, ever so gently, he brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek.

"My cousin is a lucky man", said the Prince quietly. "I hope he understands that, and treasures you accordingly."

Before he could do or say more, Lothíriel ran back inside, and hoped to the Valar that her husband might come home soon.

* * *

A word of Lord Éomer's return was brought to Lothíriel next afternoon as she was sitting with Eadmod and doing some needlework while she listened to the old woman's stories. It appeared that her husband's grandmother had an endless stock of Rohirric tales of heroes and heroines of old and she was happy to share them with anyone who might listen. When the servant who had informed them of the Marshal's return had left, Eadmod settled back in her chair and smiled gently.

"Go and see to your husband. I'm sure he's anxious to see you", said the old lady. She was a steady believer that everything would turn out well and that her grandson was a good husband, and Lothíriel did not really have a heart to say otherwise. Though she felt that she could trust Eadmod, there were still some things she'd rather not speak of with this woman. Not least of those things was the matter of her husband's cousin.

_No one must know. _

"Will you be fine by yourself?" she asked nevertheless, but Eadmod waved her spotted hand nonchalantly.

"Of course, of course. Go ahead, my dear", she urged, and after giving a kiss to the old woman's forehead, Lothíriel hurried along. As soon as she had made sure that the healers were ready in case their help was needed, hot meal for the riders was already being prepared, and water was heated in case her husband wanted to bathe, she went to receive him. Scýne came along, doubtlessly anxious to see her own spouse, and Prince Théodred came as well. From her spot on the steps leading inside, Lothíriel spotted Dreda too, and the Marshal's son by the woman's side. Dreda's expression was just as sour as it always seemed to be these days, but the boy looked hopeful and anxious.

Then the Marshal rode to courtyard along with his men. Only one of the horses was without rider: the patrol had not been without a price. Otherwise the riders seemed unscathed and she thought she heard a small sob of relief from Scýne at the sight of captain Éothain.

Lord Éomer strode towards the house, and as soon as he came to the steps, he sought his wife's eyes; she couldn't read the look in his dark eyes, but she met it nonetheless.

"My lady", he said quietly, carefully picking one of her hands. "I trust everything is well in Aldburg?"

His tone was awkward, as if he was trying hard to come up with something to say.

"All is fine. Is my lord husband in good health? Are the healers needed?" she asked. He placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles, holding her hand with a look on his face that made her think he was fearing he'd break her.

"No, my lady", he answered. Then the Marshal noticed the Prince and something like a smile appeared on his face. He approached the older Rohir and placed a hand on Théodred's shoulder as a greeting. "Cousin! I did not know you were coming here. My apologies for being away. I hope my wife has attended to you while I was gone?"

"Oh, Lady Lothíriel has been most hospitable. It feels almost like I've been in my own house", Théodred said and answered the taller man's smile with one of his own.

"That is good to hear, cousin. Now, would you mind it much if I excused myself for a bit so that I can get rid of my armour?" asked the Marshal.

"Go ahead, Éomer. I can handle myself for as long as it takes", said his cousin. The golden-haired man smiled at that and turned to look at his men. After he had given them orders in Rohirric, the riders went about their ways, probably to enjoy some well-deserved food and rest after the patrol. Then he looked at his wife.

"May I ask you to accompany me, my lady?" he asked.

"Of course", Lothíriel answered, her head bowed. Quietly, she followed her husband to their chambers; a bath was already ready and waiting there. As soon as he halted by the stand meant for his armour, she began to work over the buckles that held the guarding plates on his arms and shoulders. He readily lifted his arms, which made her think he had hoped for her help in the first place. _Why didn't you say so then, _Lothíriel thought to herself and sighed as she lifted the shoulder guard from its place. She had to tiptoe in order to be able to do that.

"Is something amiss, my lady?" he asked then, evidently sensing her mood.

"Nothing at all, lord husband", she answered, though she didn't meet his eyes. She felt his gaze on her but continued working over the plates.

But then, that wasn't really true, was it? And if it was true what Fainien had said about the Rohirrim – that they could smell a lie from a league away – he was probably wondering right now what was bothering her.

"You didn't tell me about your son", she stated at last. Well, it was bothering her still, even now.

"I apologised to you already, my lady. Are you still cross about that?" he muttered, and she could tell he was not too eager to have this conversation. But oh, they would _so _have it now.

"And you think an apology just magically makes it all better?" she asked, her attempts to rid him of the chest plate almost turning violent. "Really, lord husband, just who did you think you were marrying? A cave troll? And what even is that woman who keeps giving me looks like I did something nasty, like... like I drowned her puppy?! I suppose it didn't occur to you either that you should warn me about her!"

"I'll deal with Dreda, my lady. Don't bother yourself with her", he said and winced.

"One must wonder why you did not deal with her _before _you brought me here!" she snapped and practically threw the chest plate at its place on the stand.

"I did! I simply had no idea she'd be this bad!" Éomer groaned, his face twisting into a permanent grimace now.

"Some lovers you were, if you didn't even know how she'd react! And I suppose now she's busy muttering to the ear of that son of yours, until some day he snaps and does something like throttles our children!" Lothíriel exclaimed, her voice practically a screech now.

"Don't speak of Elric like that!" he said hotly, equally furious now. "My son is not some monster who murders innocent children!"

"How would I know?! You never tell me anything! You barely even speak to me!" she shot back.

"Then do tell me, wife, how does one speak to you when every time one opens their mouth you look like you might grab one's tongue and cut it off!" he growled.

"I just might, my dearest husband! Maybe I don't want to hear you at all!" she yelled.

"Oh, that can be very well arranged, darling! I did not want this, and I did not want a wife who can't smile to save her life, and who only ever covers and frowns at the sight of me!" said her husband, dark eyes blazing with anger.

"So you're the poor little victim here? You arrogant oaf!" Lothíriel screamed and threw a pillow at him. "Have you ever stopped to even consider how hard this might be for me? _I _was the one who was forced to leave her home and family! _I _was the one who had to forsake everything I've known and held dear! And it was _me _who had to come live in the middle of strangers and a so called husband who can't spare me one kind and comforting word!"

Furiously, she threw another pillow at him, but he dodged it as he had before. Then she moved over to her book by the bedside, and her hairbrush, her soap... she might have thrown even more things at him had he not grabbed at her wrists then.

"Would you please stop throwing things at me, or do you perhaps think burying me in them will fix everything?" Éomer growled. Lothíriel tried to struggle against his grip, but his large hands were too strong. She even tried to butt her forehead against his face, but he evaded and she hit his mail-covered shoulder instead.

"At least it's going to make me feel better!" she snapped back, which made him groan.

"Oh, would you just shut up already?" he asked, fury turning into frustration now. And as soon as those words were out of his mouth, he kissed her.

It turned out to be something between a bite and a kiss, but he didn't seem to mind. He pushed her back and drove her against the wall; all of a sudden, it was hard to concentrate on the whole being angry thing. And somehow, her bite turned into a kiss then, but it wasn't any less violent or passionate. Only, her fury seemed to fuel something equally hot inside her...

But it was immensely uncomfortable with his chain-mail on the way, which he quickly realised. The battle turned against that garment now and she cut couple of her fingers in her desperation to get rid of the mail. Fortunately her husband helped with that and soon it dropped on the floor along with the leaf-mail.

"What bloody idiot told you to wear so damn much?" she growled as she moved her assaults to his belt then, and she didn't even care how horrified her father would have been to hear her speak like that.

"I'll just go to next battle naked, then", said her husband. The idea itself was entertaining but there were other matters more pressing, such as the fact that he had grabbed her from under her knees and she took support from his shoulders, and without delay he carried her to the bed. There was urgency about it, the kisses and the way he tugged their clothes from way.

And then, as soon as he had pulled back his breeches, he pushed, and she received him with a moan, clinging to his shoulders and locking her legs about him. _Oh, yes. _He might be an annoying scoundrel but he was good at this.

"... you... damned... little... vixen", he breathed and thrust again and again, but she couldn't think properly anymore in order to answer, and so she just moaned incoherently and kissed him to shut him up.

Some time later, when Lothíriel started to come back to her senses, she started to think that they were probably making the Crown Prince wait. As exhausted and pleasantly languid she felt, Théodred needed to be attended to. She turned to look at her husband, who had rolled over to her side to lay on his back. Idly she thought she had been right to think he could be terrifying when he wanted... but then, she hadn't been terrified of him. And he was certainly not scary right now, what with that peaceful look on his face.

"My lord. Your cousin is probably waiting for you", she said. Should she have been angry still? Somehow summoning the proper emotional force did not seem possible or even appealing at the moment.

"Aye", he mumbled and got up. As soon as he was on his feet, he began to undress. He headed for the tub, though the bath water couldn't really have been hot anymore. Nevertheless, he stepped into it and quickly started to wash himself.

As for the princess, she lay still on the bed, not feeling like she was able to move quite yet. After a moment, her husband looked at her.

"Are you still angry with me, my lady?" he asked warily.

"Now I'm just resting, lord husband. But you can trust we'll talk about this later", she answered and sat up. Getting herself up and moving required some strength of character, and as soon as she was on her feet, she fetched her undergarments. He had tossed them away in his impatience, but at least he made no comments when she put them back on. Then she gathered the things she had thrown at him, all the while quietly wondering to herself if their little confrontation had been heard outside. The likely answer was yes.

"Do we really have to fight, my Princess?" he asked quietly, watching as she dug through his chest of clothes and found something clean for him to put on. At his question, she halted and stared down at the weathered, much-used garments.

"You dress in rags, lord husband. I'll have to see if we have any fabric for some new clothes", Lothíriel mumbled as an answer. "Or visit the markets to see if there's something nice. Green, I assume?"

"Wife..." he started but fell silent again. Glancing from the corner of her eye, she saw he had stopped washing and was staring at her instead.

"Hurry up, my lord. Gaping at me isn't going to get you clean any sooner, and you've already kept the Prince waiting long enough", she told him, not even stopping to acknowledge that she had very eagerly contributed in that. The princess was about to turn and exit the chamber, if only to inform Théodred it'd take a while longer.

But then the Marshal spoke: "Lady Lothíriel."

She wasn't sure if she had ever heard him utter her name. Now at the sound of her name on his lips, she froze and looked at him.

"Yes, my lord?" she asked quietly.

"I..." he started, his brow knitting as he looked at her. His lips formed the words he couldn't speak, until finally, "I see you've brought here flowers."

Somehow, she felt both relieved and disappointed at the same time, though she had no idea of what it might be he had meant to say. Surely it couldn't be about the flowers she had put on the table.

"I didn't think it would bother you. Should I take them away?" she asked.

She might have imagined it, but for the shortest moment she thought there was a smile on his face.

"No. I rather like it... _déor min." _

When Lothíriel left their bedchamber, it was with intense confusion, and a question burning her mind. Was it just a misunderstanding due to her very basic Rohirric, or had her husband just called her his dear?

* * *

**A/N: **And the plot thickens. This was yet another of those chapters that seemed to practically write itself, and I must say I very much enjoyed every moment of it! Who knew our Princess could be turned on by throwing things?

Just to make clear, though Elric is Éomer's firstborn, he doesn't have the same rights as legitimate children born of marriage. Like Scýne said in the last chapter, he can only have what his father provides him with and what he wins with his sword. Elric probably knows this already but I doubt he really understands what it means. Well, he's a young boy still. I don't know if Tolkien ever wrote of Rohirric traditions considering marriage and children (probably not), so this is just my own interpretation. Though I've chosen to go along the line that the Rohirrim don't mind illegitimate children per say, they're still concerned with ensuring the status of the legitimate children - especially when it comes to high-born nobility such as Éomer. He's a member of the royal house so stricter rules apply in his case.

Thanks for your comments, my dear readers! Even if I don't always answer, all your reviews are read and much appreciated!

* * *

**SymphonicPoem - **As Lothíriel notes in this chapter, it's something that would probably bother Imrahil. I suppose it's a classic case of lack of communication and understanding between two cultures. It'd be a big deal for her father, but the Rohirrim don't necessarily even realise it might be a problem.

**Anonymous - **From the Gondorian point of view, that might be an issue, yes. But I don't think it's for the people of Rohan. Like I said, Elric doesn't really count as the firstborn or at least he's not treated as such - that right will go to Éomer and Lothíriel's first son.

**1607hannah - **Quite so, yes. Though Tokien seems - to me, at least - be supportive of people marrying just once and having no other affairs outside the marriage. Personally, I think Éomer is someone who strictly follows his duties and his idea of honour. So I'd think he'd also be faithful to his wife. Even if he had no personal inclination to do that, she's still a princess and her family would probably consider it an insult if he was found guilty of adultery.

**Recovering4Life - **And here you have the proper throwing things session! :D Hope you liked it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was not too uncommon to find Elric in the middle of practising with a dummy well after the battle training for the day had ended. Like all men of his family, the boy had started young. They were a line of warriors, after all. Still, had Elric been the one to decide, he'd have started his training even earlier. After listening to his son whining for almost a year, he had finally allowed Elric to join the older boys. Éomer had feared his son would not be able to keep up with others, but the boy had soon proved to be a tough one. He was fast and agile, which often won over the superior strength of his opponents.

Watching his son strike blows at the dummy, he evaluated Elric would be a fine swordsman one day. But before that, the boy would have to learn discipline and judgement.

"Is he dead yet?" Éomer asked after a while, and his son jumped around. A large grin appeared on the boy's face: ever since he had come to live in Aldburg, he had seemed to regard his father as something of an idol. It wasn't entirely unlike how the Marshal had regarded his own father when the man had still lived.

"Yes, Father! He's completely dead!" Elric said happily. The Marshal picked up a practice sword and a shield.

"Do you want to show me what you have learned?" he asked, though he knew that wasn't really something he needed to inquire. Elric was always more than happy to spar with him, especially if he had lately mastered some skill. The boy grinned again and ran to grab his own shield, and soon the father and the son were exchanging blows.

A look of nearly furious concentration had come to his son's face, and Éomer hid his smile. Of all the boys who wanted to impress their fathers, Elric surely was the most enthusiastic one.

"Good. Mind your guard. That's right. Watch your footwork, if you will... and here I have you", Éomer said and pressed the blunt tip of the sword on the boy's side. Elric frowned.

"How did you do that, Father? I didn't even see it coming", he wondered, wiping hair from his face.

"Oh, it was quite easy. Let me show you", said the Marshal and smiled at his son. He showed the move couple more times, and the light of understanding lit the young Rohir's eyes. Then Elric grinned, and Éomer had a feeling other boys would soon be enjoying the fruits of this particular lesson.

"There is something I need to speak of with you, Elric", he said then as he put away the sword and the shield. A worried look came to his child's face.

"I swear, Father, it wasn't my fault, it was Brego's idea-" Elric started, which made the Marshal lift his eyebrows.

"What was Brego's idea?" he asked curiously, and Elric gulped. At the look on his son's face, Éomer smiled. "Relax, son. Though I'm sure I'll be hearing all about Brego's ideas later, that is not what I had in mind now."

"Oh", was all Elric managed and sheepish look came to his face. The Marshal bit back his chuckle and sat on a bench nearby. The boy settled beside him, looking like he was still thinking of whatever it was Brego had done this time.

"How do you like Lady Lothíriel?" Éomer asked at last, studying his son intently. A troubled look came to the boy's face.

"She's very pretty", Elric said at length, worrying his lip. "But I don't think she really likes me. She always frowns when she looks at me."

"You must be patient with her, Elric. She's... she comes from a very different place than our home, and she doesn't always understand our ways. Her life has changed much as of late, but I'm sure she'll be nicer to you after a while", Éomer said carefully. However, that didn't seem to console his son.

"Will she, Father? I want her to like me, but Dreda says she never will. Dreda thinks the Lady hates me and she'll send me away if-" Elric said quickly. From his eyes, Éomer could see how scared his son was of being forced to leave his home. Quickly, he lay a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Elric, you're not going to be sent away – never. You're my son and your place is here", he said steadily.

"But when she'll have children... Father, you're going to love them more, and you'll think me useless, and-" said the boy, sounding almost panicked now. At the sound of such absurd words, Éomer pulled his son against his side and held him tight.

"Son, you mustn't ever think like that. I'm not going to love you any less because of children she may give me. And I'm certainly not going to think you useless", he told his son calmly. "Now, didn't you just tell me before how excited you were about this? You've always wanted siblings, after all."

"Yes, Father. I'd like to have many brothers and sisters", Elric agreed, smiling now.

"And hopefully those are what you're going to have some time soon", said the Marshal and ruffled his son's hair. "Now, you shouldn't listen to Dreda so much. She's saying things she should not say."

"But why? Why would she do that?" asked the boy and he frowned again.

"Because she's upset and hurt. People do and say bad things when they feel like that, and they might not think of the consequences", Éomer said at length.

"She liked you, Father. She's jealous of Lady Lothíriel", Elric realised and his eyes widened slightly.

"About so, aye", said his father quietly. It was like his son to see into the core of the situation, even despite his young age.

"I don't really understand", Elric commented, his brow knitted as he thought about the situation.

"Adults are sometimes like that, son", Éomer said with a half-smile.

"Adults are _strange", _his son told him gravely, which made the Marshal laugh.

"I suppose we are, son", he agreed. He expected that to be funny to the young Rohir, but the expression on the boy's face grew ever more troubled.

"Uncle Théodred was acting strange too", he said. "One night, I wanted to go and ask him if we could have a riding contest the next day, but he was outside and he was talking with Lady Lothíriel. He stood really close to her and he touched her cheek. Why did he do that, Father?"

Upon hearing those words, Éomer sat frozen. What was his son telling him precisely? Théodred had only been in Aldburg for several days, and surely he wouldn't... they were cousins, after all! And she was _his _wife. The Prince and the Marshal were close as brothers, so why would Théodred ever approach his wife like that? Unless she had asked for it. Was she truly so unhappy that she'd welcome any other man than her husband?

Touches so intimate were rarely innocent. He ought to know that, perhaps better than most.

His hands became fists and his heart turned to ice as he stared on the front of him. Elric noticed, of course.

"Father?" he asked and his voice turned concerned.

"It's nothing, son. Perhaps she was just sad and the Prince was comforting her", Éomer answered at length, though his voice was strained.

It was nothing. Wasn't it?

"Now, if you have finished your enemy for the night, maybe we should go inside for some supper before Mistress Bierwén comes chasing after us", he suggested, getting up on his feet. Elric grinned at that and together the father and the son made their way inside the Marshal's Hall.

* * *

On a night three days later, Lothíriel was sat by the small dressing table that looked like a very recent addition to the Marshal's otherwise scarcely furnished chambers. The room was now more or less divided in half: on the other side were his possessions and on the other were what little Lothíriel had managed to bring from her home. More of her things, like linens and gowns among the other objects, would arrive some day soon.

Absently she was brushing her hair when her husband stepped in; he had been talking with the Prince when Lothíriel had retired for the night. She greeted him with a small nod and returned to the task of brushing.

"Lady wife", he spoke as he settled down to sit at the edge of their bed. "There is something I'd like to speak of with you, if that would suit you."

"Should I expect yet another shocking revelation, my lord?" she asked warily and glanced briefly at him.

"I suppose it's a revelation of sorts", he allowed, "but hopefully not the kind you're thinking of."

"Go ahead, lord husband", she said quietly, bracing herself for whatever it was he wanted to tell her.

"It is merely about my uncle, Théoden King", he said at length, looking away; a frown had come to his face, darkening his features. "I do not know how many things even reach your home city, so perhaps you do not know of what sickness has fallen on the House of Eorl. Our King, once such a wise and capable man, has become something of a stranger to us... even to his own kin. They say it is because of his age, but I don't believe it."

He ground his teeth, and look of angry frustration briefly vacated his face. The Marshal sighed and looked at his wife, "It is an unnatural thing that has happened to him, who was such an able man in his earlier years. Be it as may, you won't find a strong king sitting on the throne of the Mark. Rather, a man turned into a puppet for others."

"Who others?" Lothíriel asked. She had entirely forgotten about the task of brushing her hair.

"I have my suspicions, though I have no way of proving anything... you know of Saruman the White? The wizard who lives not so far from our lands? He has long been a friend to our people, but it's not friendship that he offers anymore... instead, it's slavery that Isengard would now give to the Rohirrim, though shrouded by cunning lies. He already has the King under his thumb, and he controls my uncle via a man called Gríma – an advisor in name but something else entirely in truth. Wormtongue, they call him, when he is not hearing... a fitting name for a snake such as him, really", Éomer said and snarled despite himself. He continued, "As such, Edoras is not really a safe place, nor a friendly one."

He got up and approached her; as soon as he was by her side, he lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Have no fear, lady wife. You should not be in any danger from him, and I doubt even he wants to try his strength against that of your father and your uncle. But you need to know what storm is brewing in this land and what to expect once we ride to Edoras", he said softly.

"My lord, I... thank you for telling me", she said, her voice strained. While she was happy that he was finally telling her things, she didn't really feel too comfortable about this situation – even if he was right that the man he had called Gríma would probably pose her no danger.

He nodded silently and made for the door. Once there, the Marshal looked at her over his shoulder.

"I suggest you go to bed, my lady. You look tired", he offered.

"Mm. Yes", she answered and placed her hairbrush on the dressing table. "Good night, husband."

"Likewise, my wife", he said and exited the chamber. Seeing as his suggestion was not a bad one, she changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed, under the rich green covers and furs. Surprisingly, his words did not keep her awake though it had certainly been a troubling thing to hear. The princess fell asleep and only half-awoke some time later, her husband settled behind her back and placed an arm about her.

Too tired to do or think anything about that, she let herself drift back into dreams.

* * *

The next day, the company set out from Aldburg to Edoras. As a wife to the King's nephew, Lothíriel had yet to be formally presented in Théoden King's court. Her husband had said he'd rather get this over with and return to Aldburg as soon as was possible. Eadmod agreed that the atmosphere in the Marshal's home town was more welcoming and friendly than in Edoras.

"My grandson won't say anything, the reserved thing he is, but it's not an easy thing for him. Little Éowyn lives in Edoras after all, and we can't call her back here, because the King has made her the head of the household. Between you and me, I think Éomer feels guilty about it", she had told the princess when she had gone to say goodbye to the old woman.

"I see", Lothíriel answered. At that, Eadmod tilted her head and a pensive expression came to her old, wrinkled face. Though she was almost blind, her wits were sharp as ever – indeed, to the princess it seemed that Eadmod's other senses had become ever keener. As such, she'd of course notice the troubled tone.

"What is it, my dear?" asked the old woman.

"I just think maybe my husband should be telling these things to me himself", Lothíriel had said quietly, kissed Eadmod's forehead, and went along to see that everything was ready for the journey.

And now they were on their way to Edoras. The retinue consisted of Prince Théodred's men, as he would be returning to Hornburg soon. Men from Lord Éomer's éored came as well. The only women present were Lothíriel herself and a young woman named Ceola, who now acted as the princess' handmaiden. She was only 16 years old and her grasp of Westron was almost as feeble as Lothíriel's Rohirric. She was a fast learner though and was already picking up words so swiftly that one might have thought she was sucking them from the very air near her mistress. Ceola was not one of those trained handmaidens Lothíriel remembered from Dol Amroth, but she was evidently eager to please the Marshal's wife, and the fact that she was serving a real princess was apparently a cause of great pride for the girl.

The company had one more member and that was the Marshal's son. At the sight of him, Lothíriel had frowned and wondered to herself if it was truly necessary for the boy to come along. Her husband had apparently noticed how she had looked at Elric, and quietly he had said: "I'd rather take him along than leave him here to listen to more poisonous words."

He had cast a look at Dreda, who watched the bustle in the courtyard with her customary sour look. Quickly Lothíriel had decided her husband was probably right about taking his son along.

The journey to Edoras was uneventful. This close to the capital of Rohan, it wasn't even likely that they'd come across orcs or Dunlendings, those fierce and wild people who had been the enemies of the Rohirrim for almost as long as the horselords had inhabited these plains. And as the weather was far, they made good pace as they rode towards the city of the King.

Evening was falling when they finally saw Edoras, and Lothíriel could see what people meant when they said first kings of Rohan had built this place with Aldburg in their mind. Like her new home town, Edoras was located on a great hill on the plains. The mountains guarded its back as it faced the great plains of the Mark. On the top of the hill, the Golden Hall of the King shone like a jewel in sunlight.

"The roof of Meduseld is gilded, which makes it look like that. Sometimes, when the sun shines from the right angle, it looks like the Golden Hall is on some celestial fire", Éothain told the princess. He had fallen behind to ride with her for a bit, which reminded her of their journey from Minas Tirith.

"It looks beautiful", Lothíriel commented and they rode forward.

Like apparently all buildings in Rohan, Edoras also consisted of wooden houses that almost looked like they had grown from the hill by themselves. It wasn't too surprising to see the familiar horse motifs here too: what else could one expect from the capital of horselords? As it was already evening, Lothíriel did not see too many people on their way to the Golden Hall. She guessed it was because people were already enjoying their suppers in their homes.

Finally they rode to the courtyard of Meduseld. The Golden Hall itself stood on a stone terrace, overlooking the other buildings around it and the dwellings of the common folk. On its feet, there were other buildings that probably served same purposes as those in Aldburg. Stable hands came to receive the horses, and then the Marshal came to stand by his wife's side. Quietly he offered his arm, which she took, and they made their way towards the hall.

There, on the stone terrace, a woman stood. She was tall and her fair-haired, and even standing still she emanated an aura of grace. Lothíriel thought she was beautiful, but not really in the way it was regarded in Gondor. There was something wild and strong about this woman's beauty, like she were some flower growing on the slopes of great mountains. However, there was a smile on her face when she watched the Marshal and his wife approach. It did not take long for the princess to realise she had to be Lady Éowyn, Lord Éomer's sister. That was quickly affirmed when the woman called: "Brother! You finally arrive. I was already starting to think you wouldn't come at all."

"I promised to come. Would I ever fail you, sister?" asked the Marshal. There was fondness in his voice Lothíriel had not heard before. As they reached the top of the steps, he turned to look at the princess, and said, "Sister, this is Princess Lothíriel. Lady wife, meet Éowyn, the fairest and fiercest woman in the Mark."

That made Éowyn snort.

"Shut it, brother", she told the Marshal with relaxed ease. Then the tall woman looked at Lothíriel. "Well met, Princess. I bid you welcome to Edoras."

"Thank you, my lady. It is an honour", said the princess and bowed her head. Éowyn gave her a look that seemed to drill through her head, but her features did not betray what she really thought of the princess. Then she turned to look at her brother again.

"I must inform you that the King has already retired for the night. Formal introductions will have to wait until tomorrow", she said. "So perhaps you would like some supper and a bath? Your chamber has been readied for you."

"That would be nice, yes. Might you have time to join us for dinner? It's been too long since we've last shared a meal together", said the Marshal.

"Of course, if your lady wife is fine with it...?" Éowyn answered and cast an inquisitive look at the princess.

"It's no matter", Lothíriel said. It was as good chance as any to get to know her husband's sister.

And some time later, the three of them were settled about the table in Éowyn's chambers. She had larger lodgings as she was of the royal house and permanently lived in Meduseld; the chamber belonging to the Marshal was a crammed space that was made even smaller by the man himself. The prospect of sharing it with him didn't excite Lothíriel too much, and she evaluated that in order to share the bed with him she'd have to practically sleep on the top of him. But a wife's place was by the side of her husband, and she decided it'd have been poor taste to ask for a chamber of her own.

But for now she did not think of that, but was concentrated on listening to the two siblings talk. They spoke in Westron probably out of politeness, though most of their conversation consisted of people and matters she knew little of. Still, she took note of how easily the conversation came to the two; troubled, Lothíriel thought why it seemed that the Marshal had easy conversations with everyone else except her and wondered if it was somehow her fault.

After the two siblings had exchanged their most immediate news, Lady Éowyn turned to look at Lothíriel.

"Now, please tell me of yourself, my lady. How are you finding Rohan?" she asked. Her voice was friendly, but the look in her piercing eyes was alert and watchful. The princess could feel her husband's eyes on her as well.

"It is a fair land, but different in many aspects. People here are different too", Lothíriel said at length.

"I hope it's not bad different at least", Éowyn commented. The princess lowered her eyes.

"To be honest, I haven't figured that out yet", she said quietly. She did not know if those were wise words to be spoken... but then, what good did lies and half-truths ever achieve?

"Well, I suppose you should not be blamed for that, Princess. You have been among us for such a little time", Lady Éowyn commented. She regarded the younger woman silently for a moment. "But the Rohirrim are a good and warm people, if you give them a chance."

"Indeed", Lothíriel said, trying not to sound too strained. Her sister-in-law seemed to sense a change of topic was needed, and so she asked about ordinary things, like what kind of people the princess' family was and so forth. Getting to talk about her kin helped Lothíriel to open up for a bit, and rest of the dinner was mostly spent in talking about her family, and then cultural differences between Gondor and Rohan. The Marshal too joined that conversation, and though it was mostly just small talk, it was practically the first lighter conversation Lothíriel did have with her husband.

* * *

Afterwards, it turned out the formal introductions were not really worth the anxiety she had felt beforehand. The whole thing was taken care of rather quickly: her husband brought her in the front of the King of Rohan – an old man with somewhat dull look in his eyes – and in strong voice, introduced her to the court. Answering fell on Prince Théodred, who was stood by the wooden throne along with Lady Éowyn. He welcomed the princess to Meduseld and to the family on the behalf of his father.

The man called Gríma Wormtongue appeared as well, but he didn't speak. Rather, his pale eyes followed Lothíriel with a look she couldn't decipher, but altogether she didn't get a friendly impression of him. He was a strange sight anyway, as he was dark-haired and his skin so pale like he had just been ill. Dressed in dark robes, he definitely did stand out in the middle of tanned, fair-haired riders. And then he had glanced at the Marshal, and look of such unveiled hate briefly appeared in those pale eyes that she shivered. Her husband's face was best described as stony. To herself, Lothíriel wondered: what could such loathing mean for her, and for her children?

But the scene was over briefly enough, and the Marshal then introduced her to some of the high-born Rohirrim that happened to be in the residence. The conversations were light and mostly concentrated on the matter of how the princess was finding the Mark. That topic had already become exhaustive, but Lothíriel forced a smile on her face and hoped that her thoughts did not show on her face.

The socialising did come easier than she'd have thought, however – even if she could also see what the Marshal had meant when he had spoken of the atmosphere here in Edoras. It was easy to see, when one looked around. People stood in small groups, never raising their voices too much. Their faces were wary and solemn as well. But at least the conversations she had with them were friendly enough. They were curious of course, but in a good-hearted way. The presence of a Gondorian princess did seem like a wondrous thing to many of them... and she really did not blend in in her blue and silver gown, or the Elven-wrought circlet on her brow – the precious piece of jewellery was something she had inherited from her late mother. When her husband had come to their chambers to see if she was ready, this odd look had come to his face and he had mumbled she looked beautiful.

Why was it that she could easily share a bed with him and lie practically on the top of him for the lack of space, yet it was a compliment so simple that made her blush?

The day was more or less spent in getting to know Meduseld. Lady Éowyn showed her around in the Golden Hall and introduced her to some of servants they came across. Indeed, the King's house did remind her of her new home back in Aldburg. Of course, everything here was bigger and richer, but in the end Lothíriel was mostly happy to know she wouldn't have to stay here for long. The atmosphere was not something to grow her affection and to herself she thought how Lady Éowyn or anyone could stand it. She'd even have liked to ask that, had she known the older woman better.

The other matter was Prince Théodred. Mostly, he kept away but there were couple of unsettling moments when she'd feel his eyes on her and she feared what she might see if she turned to look back at him. Still, he seemed to understand he had overstepped some boundaries he should have left untouched. And the last thing she wanted was bad blood between the Prince and his cousin. She had not come all the way here just to divide an already troubled House.

Evening fell and supper was served: for a short while, a bit of ease seemed to take place as the people of the King's household lay down their daily chores and came to enjoy food together. But Lothíriel herself found she had little taste for food, and as soon as she was able, she sneaked out of the noisy hall.

Outside, the wide sky of the Riddermark was blazing in all the shades of red and gold as the sun made its descent to west. Really, the sky was somehow different here – it was larger in a way. Perhaps it was because of the lack of sea? The capital of the horselords was getting ready for the night, and the courtyard of the Golden Hall was quiet as well. Guards made their rounds, but otherwise a silence seemed to have fallen.

Gazing out to the plains, it finally hit her. This land was where she'd live and die, and there was no going back any longer. In her veins the blood of Dol Amroth might flow, but she was a woman of the Mark now. And the children she'd bear would be of Rohan, more than they'd ever be of Gondor; here, her blood would live on. Her blood, and the Marshal's. If she'd be remembered, it would not be as a princess, but as a wife to Éomer, Third Marshal of the Riddermark.

She sighed and turned with the intention of going back inside. However, there on her way stood none other than Gríma Wormtongue, studying her with those pale, unsettling eyes of his. She nearly gasped in surprise at the sight of him and his evident gift of sneaking about in silence, but somehow managed to keep that sound inside. Instead, she curtsied.

"My lord", she greeted him, "I do not believe we have been introduced."

"Lady Lothíriel", he said; his voice was very soft, but also without warmth, "I am Gríma, son of Gálmod."

"It is an honour, my lord", she said. Somehow, she even sounded like she meant that.

The man's eyes narrowed.

"It was clever of the Prince, to bring Gondor here so close to the royal house", Gríma said at length. "But you're not his wife, and I can tell that aggrieves him. Do not think you're a power here, princess. Rohan is not the southern kingdom where you come from."

"I fear I do not understand your meaning", Lothíriel said, meeting the man's gaze with a look she hoped spoke of air-headed ignorance.

"Oh, I think you do, princess. You're only a Marshal's wife. Remember that", Gríma said in a low, soft voice.

"It is good of you to remind me, my lord. Otherwise I might have forgotten", she said sharply, and the look on his face was worth what trouble those words might come to cause her. She curtsied again, "Good night, Lord Gríma."

And with that, she returned inside.

* * *

On the third day of their stay, Lothíriel and Ceola went down to see the markets of Edoras. Couple of the Marshal's men came along as escorts, though the princess honestly doubted anything could have threatened her life in this city. But then, it wasn't really a completely new thing. Back in Dol Amroth, she had always had two or three guards with her when she had left the palace.

Apparently summer months always brought more people to Edoras, not only to make business but also to see family that lived there. As such, the markets were rather busy as the two women and the guards arrived there. The goods varied from food to animals, hand-craft, wool and weapons. She found some nice green fabric that would hopefully suit her husband and a new cloak for herself: she was already thinking that none of her cloaks from Dol Amroth would be warm enough for the winter of these windy plains. Another thing she bought was several pairs of leggings, as she was already planning on learning to ride a horse astride. The whole side-saddle business seemed foolish here in Rohan anyway.

It was nice to be out like this, and hear the noisy bustle about her – especially because it was a welcome change to how it was up in Meduseld. Even if she didn't understand Rohirric that well, in a way it reminded her of Dol Amroth and its markets. It also made her miss Fainien, with whom she had often gone to see what goods there was on sale. But somehow her epiphany of last night made the absence of her sister-in-law easier to bear.

They spent almost an entire afternoon at the markets. After all, there was much to be seen, and the crowd made it so that no hurried pace was possible. Lothíriel found she wasn't too eager to return so soon anyway. And as the weather was nice, why should they go back so soon?

But as Lothíriel was considering some leather boots meant for riding, she suddenly heard the voice of an old woman: _"__Cwén! Min __hlæfdige_ _Cwén!" _

Those words were shouted in a bright, clear voice that even carried over all the noise in the markets. At first, she didn't realise they were directed at her, but then the voice shouted again and Ceola touched the princess' arm.

"My lady", said the girl, and the bewilderment in her voice alarmed Lothírel as well. She lifted her eyes and turned to look at the woman who was so calling her.

She was old, but probably younger than Lady Eadmod. Her hair was white as freshly fallen snow and her eyes were the brightest blue Lothíriel had ever seen. She might have been beautiful once, but it was hard to tell, for there was a large scar that essentially covered the left side of her face and marred her mouth so that the corner of it was permanently lifted as if in some twisted smile. Otherwise, she looked like any other woman of the Mark.

The old woman approached the princess, faster than one might have expected of someone of her age. People close enough to observe and hear had stopped and fallen silent to observe the situation now, and all their eyes were focused on the scar-faced woman. Lothírel herself stood frozen too, unsure of how to react.

The old woman only stopped when she was on the front of her. Only then did she realise how much shorter this strange person was – she was almost a head shorter than the princess.

She looked up at Lothíriel with wide eyes, until her face broke into a huge smile that revealed her mouth lacking of teeth. Gently, she placed a hand on the princess' belly.

"_Wes ðu hal, min Cwén! __Bléts þín hrif, þú Módor of mihtige Cyningas!" _she said loudly, smiling still like this was the happiest thing she had ever told anyone. And the murmur of the people rose, and Lothíriel saw them all looking at her. What was going on? Why were people staring at her like she had just fallen from the sky?

"What did she say?" Lothíriel asked Ceola; she took note of the girl's stunned expression and now she was starting to worry if it had been something bad that the woman had said.

Ceola blinked and shook her head, as if trying to free herself of some spell.

"She call you Queen. She say you will birth a line of great Kings", Ceola answered, her voice not much more than a whisper.

And at that, Lothíriel understood why the people were staring at her.

* * *

Éomer had been waiting for some time when Theódred finally arrived, looking so grave one might have thought someone had just died. Judging by the look on his face, the Prince already knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation – the Marshal's curt call to join him for a talk had informed the older man of that.

They met in the training grounds of Edoras around sunset, mostly because of the privacy that place provided. By then, the word of what had taken place at the markets was already common knowledge in Edoras. Probably even the mice in the stables knew.

_Lothíriel, the mother of kings. _

"Here I am, cousin", said the Prince at last after the two men had stared at each other for the longest time. "You wanted to speak with me."

"That I do", Éomer answered sharply, staring hard at his cousin. He'd never have thought this of the man on the front of him, and it was hard to believe still. Théodred was, after all, the closest thing he had to a brother.

"What is it, Éomer?" Théodred asked warily. And he had the gall to pretend he didn't know!

"I was just wondering if you ever even had the intention of telling me that you wished to make a cuckold of me", he said coldly, which instantly brought a shocked look to his cousin's face.

"What on earth are you talking about, cousin? Have you been drinking?" Théodred asked, sounding as innocent as any guiltless man.

"And now you lie to me? Elric saw you with the princess in Aldburg! In my own house! How dare you?" snarled the Marshal, fighting an urge to grab his sword. The Prince went pale and his eyes widened.

"No! I swear, it was nothing. Cousin, I did not mean anything. She just seemed so sad and forlorn to me, and I tried to comfort her..." he said quickly.

"Then just why is Ethelgifu calling her the Queen? Why is the old seer saying that she'll be a mother to a line of kings?" Éomer asked angrily. "How can she say such thing of a wife of a Marshal? I'm no king and have no intention to become one, so how can Ethelgifu see Lothíriel as the Queen if not because of you?!"

"Really, cousin? You're taking an old crazy woman's word as a proof that I'm trying to steal your wife?" Théodred argued.

"You know full well that she has been right before!" Éomer barked back. "And she never says anything that is without meaning!"

"But her words rarely even make any sense, cousin, and calling your wife queen would very well mean something entirely else. Just because she was right once or twice doesn't mean she's right now or that I'm trying to get in between you and your princess!" Théodred said. He took a step towards his cousin, trying for an appealing look. "Listen to yourself, Éomer. Do you seriously think that I'd ever do something like _that _to you?"

"My son didn't lie. And now whole of Edoras is talking, and it's only a question of time that the word will spread. Either they'll think you're going to take her, or make a usurper out of me. Either way, it's going to result in the ruin of us all", snapped the younger man and also took a step toward the Prince. As soon as he was on the front of his cousin, he grabbed the front of Théodred's tunic and pulled the older man close; the both of them knew how a fight between the two of them would have ended. "She's my wife, Théodred. Stay away from her."

But the Prince was not so easily beaten.

"If that's what she is, then perhaps you should start to treat her like one!" he growled. At that, the Marshal pushed the Prince back. No one else than the Third Marshal could ever have done that and not be punished for assaulting the Crown Prince of the Mark.

"You know nothing, Théodred", he said angrily. With that, he left the training grounds. However, it would have been a lie to say he was any less troubled when he did go.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh dear. What was that? Don't ask. My muse has a mind of his own.

I can promise we'll get more light on Ethelgifu later on, and also on what it was she was right about before. But for now that has to wait. As to where we will go from here... that remains to be seen as well.

Bad grammar from Ceola was intentional, to show that her Westron is not quite perfect yet.

As usual, I'm really grateful for all the comments! Thanks, guys!

* * *

_Cwén! Min __hlæfdige_ _Cwén! _= Queen! My lady Queen!  
_Wes ðu hal, min Cwén! __Bléts þín hrif, þú Módor of mihtige Cyningas!_ = Hail, my Queen! Bless your womb, you Mother of great Kings!

* * *

**LittleNK - **As Lothíriel herself wonders in the very end of the last chapter, "déor min" would translate to (I think) "my dear".

**SymphonicPoem - **I have this feeling he'd be more sensitive and it'd be easier for him to speak to her like that. He was born a Prince, after all, so I'd imagine he's more comfortable in the presence of a princess. But for Éomer it's a difficult thing, among the other things because he's "just" a Marshal and he's probably still worried if he's good enough for Lothíriel.

**Amanda - **I'm not sure they can really get everything settled so soon. They haven't even been married so long, and both of them are still trying to get used to the situation. And all these other happenings aren't realy helping with it. I think they're both kind of stubborn and also bewildered. Personally I think it'd be unlikely for them to sort everything out so quickly. But they're kind of talking now at least, and I have a feeling Éomer is already starting to get used to the idea that she is with him, to the point where Théodred's alleged interference makes him react so angrily here.

**1607hannah - **Oh, you're definitely right about that, and I love to hear people when they talk of something they really know so much about. But as far as I know, Tolkien's works are very much based on Scandinavian/Northern/Northern German folklore - I think he even somewhere said that the spirit of his works should draw from the northern tradition rather than from the Mediterranean. Anyway, the Rohirrim are perhaps the one people it's easiest to explore the stuff of European Middle Ages.

Thanks for your comment about Éothain! I must confess I hadn't realised that he remains the same through my works, and that is an interesting thing to note. I suppose I've just become so blind to my own writings that I don't notice things like that anymore... I'm glad to hear it doesn't bother you, though. I guess I just always need Éomer to have someone he can trust with his deeper and more difficult feelings, and Éothain always seems like a character to answer for that need. Perhaps I should try something else sometimes. :)

**R. Zancan - **Thanks for your comments! You're probably right about the situation with Elric, but then I'd say Éomer is just too close to the matter, and it's hard for him to take any other stance than that of defending his son. Perhaps we will see more of this in the future, but for now both parties seem to be too deep in their defensive stances to really settle the matter.

**Sine amore nihil est vita **- Isn't it the job of the writer to surprise every now and then? :D I'm glad to hear I've succeeded! And to be honest, I really like writing about Elric. He does introduce an interesting angle to the story, yes. Lothíriel is acting calm about it now, but I'm not sure she has quite yet made her peace with the matter.

I believe Éomer already knows that it wasn't him she was meant to marry. If you check the conversation he had with one Master Metodlác back in chapter 1, he does know that originally her hand was asked for Théodred. But I'd think the Prince gave Metodlác free reign to negotiate any kind of alliance, the most important part being that one _was _reached. And so it was, and whatever personal regret that might have caused to Théodred remains to be seen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The night must have been growing late, but Lothíriel hardly paid any attention. She was only concerned with the coming of morning and the prospect of leaving Edoras: she had no idea of how she could stand the whispering and the stares for much longer. At least her husband had promised they'd leave for Aldburg at first light. To her it seemed he was just as anxious to get going as she was, and that was no wonder.

_Queen. _That damned word would not leave her in peace, no matter how much she tried to push it away. And judging by the looks she saw on the faces of people here in Edoras, she was not the only one thinking of it. How could a Marshal's wife be a mother to kings? Unless she was an adulteress or her husband a usurper.

There was a sound of the door opening, but she did not turn around to see who had entered. Instead, she remained where she was, sat on the edge of the bed and resting her forehead against her arms, which lay on her bent knees. Then, he sat beside her on the bed and let out a long, heavy sigh that was just as gloomy as she felt.

For the longest time, the two of them sat in silence, until she asked: "Does everyone think it's true?"

"Some do. Ethelgifu is... she has her own following. I'd say she is just a crazy old woman, but..." he said, but then he hesitated and fell silent.

"But what, my lord?" she asked.

"She has been right before", he said quietly.

"You believe in her", Lothíriel realised and looked at him. The Marshal was staring down on the ground, his face dark and troubled.

"I do, my lady", he answered softly.

"Why is that? Why would you believe her? Why would you believe _this?" _she wanted to know. At that, he glanced at her and his look was somehow tormented.

"Because years ago, she told me exactly how my parents would die", he said gravely. "And less than a half year later, her words came true."

She looked at him in surprise and was speechless for the longest moment. Finally, she placed a hand on his shoulder, albeit gingerly.

"I am your wife, my lord. As you promised me your loyalty, so I pledge mine to you. You must believe that, no matter what that woman said", she told him. She was a Princess of Dol Amroth, and she'd be damned if she let anyone say her honour was questionable.

He looked at her then and it seemed there was even something like a smile on his face.

"I know, my lady. I do not doubt the honour of Dol Amroth", he said quietly.

"Who is that woman, anyway? How does she know these things?" Lothíriel asked, crossing her feet and searching the face of her husband with her eyes.

"Ethelgifu was as any woman of the Mark until the orcs murdered her youngest son and her husband in the front of her eyes. They tortured her as well, and were about to kill her when the riders of my father arrived. She was brought to Edoras and she was healed here, at least in body. But she was never the same afterwards. Ever since, she has seen things others do not. People say her pain bought her a second sight", said the Marshal quietly.

"And the things she sees always come to pass?" asked the princess, her insides twisting.

"That depends on whom you ask. What Ethelgifu sees and what she says are not always the easiest things to decipher – some would say it is nonsense that she talks, and that it is pure chance if it looks like something she said comes to pass. It is not often these days that she even speaks of her visions", he sighed.

"Could it mean something else then? What she said?" she asked, worrying her lip.

"I have no idea", he answered. He lowered his head and rested his forehead on his hand; he was an image of weariness as he sat there.

"What will happen now?" Lothíriel asked after a moment of silence.

"Would that I knew", he said, not opening his eyes. "Ethelgifu is just an old woman, and it's not even widely agreed that she is a real seer. But there are those who'd love to use it as a weapon, nevermind the truthfulness of her vision. I fear what may yet come of this."

He let out a long, wavering sigh, and spoke so very quietly: "I am scared."

And looking at him, she understood how much it must have asked of him to just confess that to her. If he could be brave enough to admit to having such a feeling, then perhaps...

They were alone in this. The only thing she really did have was him, and vice versa. Maybe it wasn't so wrong to lean on him now, and let him lean on her in turn.

He was her husband, after all.

Slowly and carefully, she lay a hand on his shoulder. He didn't move, and then she crawled closer and placed an arm about his shoulders. At first, his form felt tense under her touch, but eventually he relaxed, and she leant her temple against his.

"It's going to be all right", she whispered, though she wasn't so sure how that could be.

But for now, she felt both of them needed to believe it.

* * *

It was not long after sunrise that the Third Marshal and his retinue left the capital of Rohan. All their faces were solemn as they went, but Prince Théodred thought they also looked relieved to be leaving Edoras. And who could blame them? He'd leave his father's seat soon as well, but not before he had spoken with the King. It was hard to reach his father these days, but it was urgent that he did. Last night, Éomer had laid his sword at the feet of the Lord of the Mark, to cut wings from any rumour that he might harbour treason. Though Théodred thought that a needless act, he could understand his cousin's motivation to do it. Théoden King's approval meant more to his sister-son than the Marshal himself could ever have said.

Éomer was the last man in the Mark to usurp power, and his wife would be loyal to him, no matter how unhappy she was in her place. She was a princess, after all.

That left only one option... something the Prince's cousin had not even realised. But Théodred himself certainly did.

Éowyn came to stand by his side then; it was like her to be up and about even on an early hour such as this. She had also been there to bid farewell to her brother. Théodred knew she hated to see her brother go, but like always she'd not ask him to stay.

"Do you think he should have stayed?" Éowyn asked quietly.

"I don't know", Théodred said, watching the riders grow smaller as they made their way down the hill. He sighed, "I may have made a mistake."

"How so?" asked his cousin.

"Your brother grows protective of his wife. I did not understand that... I may have raised bad blood between ourselves", he said, lowering his voice.

"You can't mean to say you believe what Ethelgifu speaks", Éowyn said and frowned.

"I'm not sure what I believe. But your brother does, and it will continue to trouble him", Théodred said gravely. He turned to look at his cousin, and he lay a hand on her shoulder. He spoke, "Stand by your brother, Éowyn. Help him, if you can. And help his wife as well. It's a large thing that awaits them, and I do not think either of them will welcome it."

Éowyn searched her cousin's eyes, trying to understand his meaning. But all she could see there in the Prince's eyes was sadness.

"What are you saying, Théodred?" she asked.

He didn't know why, but he smiled as he finally let out those words that had been echoing in his mind ever since his argument with the Marshal.

"I think I'm going to die."

* * *

Dreda was in the middle of some needlework when Mistress Bierwén approached her on that second day after the Marshal and his lady wife had departed for Edoras. She had known the younger woman all her life, ever since Dreda had entered the world kicking and screaming. Bierwén had watched her run about in her games with Marshal Éomund's son – the two had truly been inseparable. But then Éomer's battle training had started, and Dreda had thrown the tantrum of the century for not being allowed to join him and the other boys. Well, it was probably understandable. Dreda had always considered herself as one of the boys and to her young mind, it had been incomprehensible that she could not share this thing like she had shared all the other things.

And then their childhoods had come to a brisk end as they had brought Éomund back from the battlefield, and Lord Éomer had moved to Edoras; the unsmiling young man who had returned to Aldburg several years later was not the boy who had left this town.

"Mistress Bierwén", Dreda greeted the older woman, nodding at the sight of her.

"Dreda", answered the Marshal's chatelaine, "would it be fine by you if I sat with you for a bit?"

"Of course. Make yourself comfortable", Dreda answered. "You don't mind if I keep working?"

"Go ahead", Bierwén said and took seat across the younger woman. Only a year younger than the Marshal, Dreda was already a woman grown and more than ready for marriage. There certainly were many men who would have liked to call her a wife. But Bierwén knew why she paid no heed to that matter. Until last March, Dreda had been waiting for Lord Éomer to finally come around and ask for her hand... and now that he was married to another woman, the whole idea of marriage seemed despicable to Dreda.

"How are you faring these days?" asked the chatelaine at last, and the younger woman cast a sharp look at her from under her eyebrows.

"I'm fine, thank you", she said warily.

"Is that true, Dreda? To be honest, I'm not so sure you _are _fine", Bierwén said, but kept her voice gentle and warm. That earned her a sharp look from the younger woman.

"With all due respect, Mistress, I do not think this concerns you", she said bluntly and concentrated again on her needlework.

"But someone ought to talk with you, and I'm the only one available at the moment", said the older woman calmly. "Dreda, it's no secret how you follow the new Lady of the house with your eyes, and I fear what it means for the both of you."

At that, Dreda's eyes flashed.

"I do not wish to speak of _her", _she snapped, her voice turning ever colder.

"Perhaps you should, though", Bierwén pointed out, still maintaining the gentle, calming tone. "I know you are hurt over what has happened, but you need to make your peace with this. If not for your own sake, then for Lord Éomer."

Now the younger woman's eyes were positively furious.

"What do you know, Bierwén? This is none of your business, and neither is how I deal with it!" she hissed. As ever, Dreda was explosive when she was told what to do.

"I know that you're only going to hurt yourself and others if you brew your hate", Bierwén answered, leaning towards the younger woman. "And especially the one you claim to love. I know it's not easy, but could you not at least consider this? His fate is now out of your hands, and you must understand that."

"Oh, I know my future has been taken from me", Dreda said icily. "I may suffer it in quiet but I will not forgive – especially not to the woman who is responsible for this."

"You actually think the Princess had any part in making this happen? She did not come here an eager bride, but because her mighty uncle commanded it. Don't you think she at least deserves sympathy, if not your respect?" asked Bierwén patiently, though she was starting to feel like she could just as well have been talking to stone. Rohirrim and their damned stubbornness!

"I don't care about her or what sad story she has behind her", said the younger woman steadily, glaring at the Marshal's chatelaine. "Everyone is pretending she's something special, but she's not! She's not one of us! She's nothing but a stranger and a disgrace to our ways and to the noble House of Eorl!"

"That is not for you to decide", Bierwén said, now just with a hint of sternness. "And he was never yours to choose, Dreda. I've tried to tell you that before, even if you have not listened. The Marshal's life belongs to the Mark, and it is unlikely that Théoden King would ever have let him marry you."

"But Théodred would have", Dreda argued angrily. "The Prince thought nothing of my low birth. He'd have allowed it, and that day would have come soon, because the King is not going to live much longer."

"Is that so? Did Lord Éomer tell you that?" asked the older woman sharply. Fury flashed in Dreda's eyes, and Bierwén realised she had hit a nerve; there behind fury was pain and the first shadow of doubt. It was then that the chatelaine wondered whether it had been a wise choice to have this conversation with the angry young woman.

"He'd have seen it, sooner or later. He'd have asked for my hand. I know it", Dreda still insisted, however. Perhaps she did because it was all she had now.

Seeing she was more or less unreachable, Bierwén sighed and gave up.

"Fine", she said at length. "If that is how you truly feel, then I do not suppose it is of use to try and change your mind."

"It's not", Dreda informed her hotly.

"Then I have no more business with you today", Bierwén said and got up on her feet. "But take a heed of my words, Dreda. Your hate is a destructive thing, perhaps not only to yourself but also to the Marshal. If any harm or mishap comes to the Princess by your hand, Lord Éomer is not going to love you for it. You stay away of her, and remember that she can make your life very difficult if you push her too far."

"Will that be all?" asked the younger woman, her voice colourless now.

"Yes. That is all", Bierwén answered and went about her way, hoping that this talk would prove to have positive consequences instead of the bad ones, like she feared in her heart.

* * *

Though his grandmother had grown old and frail these past years, there was still something about her that made Éomer feel like she'd live forever. She had always been there, as long as he had lived. When he and Éowyn had been child, Eadmod had often been tasked with looking after the two children as their parents were busy with their many responsibilities. She was a gentle, warm woman, and Éomer had no idea of how he and his sister would have survived those first painful months after the deaths of their parents if Eadmod had not been there.

His duties as Marshal often kept him busy, but he always made time so that he could sit with his grandmother for a while almost daily, as he now intended three days after their return to Aldburg. Due to her frail health and the loss of her sight, she didn't move about in the house so much anymore, so he knew she appreciated all visits not only from him, but from his son as well and others too. Indeed, if someone was in the need of some knowledge from the long years past, it was usually Eadmod who was consulted.

Sitting eyes closed in her armchair, she looked like she was sleeping and Éomer almost turned around to leave as not to wake her. But when he did, she spoke: "Where do you think you're going, my dear? Come here and sit with me for a bit."

"Of course, Grandmother", he answered and took seat across her. Although she was almost blind, it still felt like she could see when one sat before her.

Eadmod smiled and settled more comfortably in her chair.

"You haven't yet told me about your visit to Edoras, my dear", she said. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"It wasn't the most pleasant one", he said at length. "Ethelgifu had words for my wife."

"Yes, she told me of it", Eadmod said, and her face became serious and thoughtful. "It seems to have shocked her deeply."

"That it did", he sighed. "And it shocked me as well."

"I don't think you need to be concerned for whether she's loyal to you. What Ethelgifu said can mean many things, perhaps in the far future", said his grandmother.

"Hmm. I hope you're right", he said quietly. She sought his hand, which he offered readily to her, and she patted it gently. Then a sharp look came to her face.

"Now, I understand that the matter of Elric remains unresolved between the two of you", she said, and it worried him just a little bit when he took note of how stark her voice had become.

"Grandmother, I do believe that is between myself and my wife", he said defensively.

"Then why haven't you settled it with her? All Lothíriel tells me just sounds to me like you barely even speak to her", Eadmod said sternly.

"I do talk to her! It's just... it's not always so easy, and I worry that I say something wrong and upset her", he said quickly. "And don't bring Elric to this."

"Yes, I know how you feel about the boy, and I love him just as much as you do. But you need to understand your wife's position in all this. I gather from her words that it is an unheard thing in her own land and it deeply hurts her that you do have other children than those she may give to you", she said steadily.

"Elric was born ten years ago! I was barely a man back then, Grandmother! Do I go blaming people for things they did a decade ago?" Éomer argued hotly. For an old blind woman she moved quite fast, and with surprising precision: only an eye-blink after those words were out of his mouth, her knuckles flicked across his temple.

"What was that for?" he asked in confusion and rubbed at the spot she had hit.

"That was for being a thick-headed fool. It's all your fault for not realising this and taking care of it _before _you brought her here. I know, you didn't think it would be such an important thing. But you were there in the court of Lord Denethor, you saw their ways, and you knew right from the beginning that she's a princess", Eadmod said, her voice turning stern again. "It's not to _me _you need to explain yourself. I know what position you were in then and that you've grown up since that time. But you must reach an understanding with your wife about this matter."

"But what can I even tell her? How can I ever make it better?" he asked, still rubbing his temple. "I can't just keep apologising until the end of time."

"I'd be a wise one if I had all the answers, grandson. What I advise you to do is to talk with her, and make her understand your position. But you should also make sure that she sees you understand _hers", _she said, gentler this time. Éomer grimaced.

"I must have been mad to ever agree to do this. I should have run for the hills the moment Metodlác started to speak of marriage", he muttered to himself, which earned him another flick of knuckles.

"Stop complaining, Éomer. You're married to a princess, not a cave troll, so stop acting like you are", Eadmod said sharply. "Sometimes I could swear you were brought up by orcs."

"All right, all right", he said hurriedly. "I'll speak with her of it."

"Good. Remember, my dear: marriage is about compromises. If you don't go halfway to meet her, she's unlikely to do the same for you", she told him. Finally, she smiled. "Now, give your grandmother a kiss before you go. I'm sure you have things to attend to."

He leant over to kiss the old woman's brow. She patted his arm gently.

"You may have been brought up by orcs, but I know you're a good man. She'll see that too", Grandmother said gently. Éomer grunted non-committally and hoped she was right.

* * *

The night was growing late when Lothíriel entered their bedchamber. She was feeling tired after the day and looked forward to curling up under the covers and falling into dreams where none of her concerns could find her.

As she stepped in, she saw her husband laying on the bed; fully clothed and resting over the covers, he didn't look like he was really planning on sleeping. Quietly, she nodded at him and walked over to her dressing table with the plan of brushing her hair.

He sat up on the bed, and spoke: "My lady. May I ask you to join me?"

Dutifully she turned and made her way towards the bed, wondering if he was in the mind of pursuing marital relations. However, if she could read his face at all, he didn't look like he was thinking of that.

"Please, sit down", he offered and quietly she did so. She was starting to wonder what was going on in his mind and was about to turn and look at him, but he prevented her from turning by laying a hand on her shoulder. "Stay there."

Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows but did not move. He shuffled behind her for a bit and then he lifted her hair gingerly from way. Then he placed his hands on her shoulders, and he began to massage, slowly at first. He said: "Do tell me if I am hurting you."

"Of course", said the princess, trying not to sound too surprised. What had earned this act of affection? But then, it felt nice, and gradually she let her shoulders relax under his hands.

"I talked with my grandmother and she was of the opinion that I haven't treated you very well in the matter of my son", he said at length. Then he sighed. "I suppose she is not wrong to say so... I could have handled it better than I did, and I am sorry."

He fell silent for a moment and she pondered whether he expected her to say something. Before she could come up with anything, he continued, "If there is any way I can make it easier for you, my lady, please tell me. I do not wish this matter to poison our relationship."

"My lord, I..." Lothíriel began. "I don't really..."

"Anything else than sending Elric away, I can do. You see, there's not really any place I could send him now. You saw how it was in Meduseld – that's not a place for a young boy. He wouldn't be able to survive there, not when the situation is what it is. I fear that Wormtongue would take out his hatred for me on the boy and there's no telling what he might do if he has the mind for it. As for my cousin... well, he's very busy keeping the Dunlendings at bay. He has no time to attend to any fatherly duties", he explained softly, all the while massaging her shoulders. "My son really has no other place to go. I understand your unhappiness for it, but... I fear there's no choice about it. Not now, at least."

"I see", said the princess quietly, staring down on her hands. It was hard to feel upset when she was starting to feel so relaxed, and truthfully she could see where he was coming from.

"My lady... I know I should have told you about my son as soon as we met in Minas Tirith", said the Marshal quietly. He sounded regretful as he said that. He continued, "We did not really begin on the lightest note, did we?"

"No, I suppose we didn't", she agreed, remembering their first encounter in the stables.

"I was horribly discourteous, and afterwards I wondered why you didn't punch me the moment you learned who I was", he admitted.

"Well, I _was _trying to steal a horse, my lord", she said. For some reason, that made her smile. "I was just surprised you didn't flog me for that."

He let out a snort and she could feel a brief touch of his lips on her earlobe, like an awkward little kiss.

"It took me by surprise, my lady", he said quietly then, his hands stopping on her shoulders. "I didn't realise you were so reluctant to marry me that you'd risk your life like that."

"Really, it was a stupid idea. I would probably have gotten myself killed if I had somehow succeeded. You were right to stop me that night, lord husband", she said quickly.

"But I could have been kinder about it", he argued.

"It's nothing, my lord. I don't think it was an easy night for either of us", Lothíriel said, her voice turning soft.

"No. It wasn't", he agreed. Ever so gently, he planted a small kiss on the back of her neck, and the tender touch of lips made a shiver pass through her; the feeling was not unpleasant at all. She turned her face so that she could see her husband, and he was so close, watching her with a look she couldn't quite decipher.

Lothíriel did not really think as she moved. Quickly, gingerly, she gave him a kiss: a brush of her lips against his. It wasn't the first time they kissed, but it was certainly the most tender one... and in embarrassment, she turned to look away. A blush crept to her face and though she wondered what he must have thought, she didn't dare to look and see.

"You look very tired, _déor min. _You work too hard", he said quietly, brushing the back of his fingers across the side of her neck.

"I do my duty, lord husband", she said, her surprise at his words echoing in her voice.

"That does not mean you can't have rest, my lady", he told her and moved so that he could sit by her side. Lothíriel stared down on her hands, afraid of what she might see if she looked at him now.

"Lady wife, I am sorry for having been such a poor husband to you so far. I promise I'll try to mend my ways", said the Marshal at length, his voice not much more than a whisper.

"It's all right, my lord", she answered softly.

"You don't have to say that, my lady", he uttered, and he briefly kissed her temple.

They spoke no more that night, but when Lothíriel settled for rest, she felt something she had not expected – something that had not been there ever since she had been promised to Marshal Éomer.

That something was _peace. _

* * *

It was not often that Éothain was able to sneak up on the Marshal, but still after all these years there was one insance when he could do that: when Lord Éomer was grooming his horse Firefoot, it was almost ridiculously easy to approach him without his notice. Humming quietly to himself, the Marshal was fully concentrated on caring for the stallion's thick grey coat. He rarely looked as peaceful as when he was focused on Firefoot.

But then, it was not uncommon for a rider of Rohan. A Rohir's horse was more than just a means of transport: the animal was also a friend and a companion. Raising and training a horse, especially a warhorse, required a lot of work but in the process, a bond was forged that could one day save a man's life. Éothain had seen some Rohirric warhorses perform amazing deeds just to protect their masters.

"I swear, if you groom him any more, his coat will shine so bright that all the people of Aldburg will be blinded when you ride about", he remarked, which finally alarmed the Marshal. The younger man made a sound between a chuckle and a snort.

"Perhaps I will do that. Do you think I could blind orcs in a battle?" he asked dryly. "Marshal Éomer and his wondrous shining horse, a song brought to you by Captain Éothain."

"Hah. You know I leave composing songs to those with more skill", Éothain commented.

"Like you did when you were wooing Scýne?" asked his friend innocently. The captain winced at the memory. Scýne was rather fond of reciting that little song to him every now and then.

"Well, I was desperate", he said, trying for a nonchalant tone. He took seat on a bale of hay nearby and gave his friend a long searching look. "Speaking of my wife, she said she saw you talking with Dreda earlier, and that you looked upset when you went out. Do you want to talk about it, laddie?"

Éomer stopped with grooming Firefoot's coat, which made the horse snort in displeasure. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand over his steed's neck.

"I tried to talk to her", he said quietly, not turning to meet his friend's eyes. "Tried to tell her I'm sorry for letting her down. I... Éothain, I never promised her anything, but she makes me feel like I did. I thought she knew that it was unlikely I could ever..."

"She probably does know. And if you ask me, that could just be what makes it so bad", Éothain commented. He narrowed his eyes, "You never loved her like she loves you. Did you?"

"... no. I can't say that I did", Éomer sighed. "After Fealu..."

"You don't have to explain. I understand. It's a hard thing, isn't it? First loves are horrible. And so is the death of one's innocence. But it doesn't mean you should forever guard your heart after it", said the captain gently. "It's not wrong to let yourself fall in love again."

"And what precisely are you implying, my good captain?" asked his friend with just the faintest hint of defensiveness. Éothain realised they were entering an area that was probably best left untouched for now.

"Oh, nothing at all", he said lightly. "One more thing. Scýne also asked me to tell you that you'll be needed inside in a moment. Those seamstresses your wife called are coming to take your measures for some new clothing."

"Do I really have to?" Éomer wondered out loud, wincing as he spoke. Éothain grinned.

"As one married man's advice to another: do as your lady wife says. It'll make her happy, and happy wives are generally much sweeter than sour ones", he said. With a smug little smile, he continued, "And you wouldn't believe what things happy wives are able to come up with."

"Éothain! If I want marriage advice from you, I'll ask for it", said the Marshal with the voice of someone long-suffering and much abused.

"Of course, my lord", said the older man jovially.

But no matter how reluctant Éomer was to receive counsel from his captain, he _did _hurry up with the task of caring for his horse, and it was not even fifteen minutes later that he had already gone to see his wife. Éothain took good and observant note of that for future reference.

* * *

_June 3017, Aldburg_

The feeling of nausea woke her up that morning. It was warm and pleasant under the covers and the arm of her husband was securely about her, so at first the princess hoped the ill feeling might pass if she tried to concentrate on falling back asleep. She could afford few more minutes of sleep, and she didn't want to let nausea ruin it.

But the longer she lay there, the worse it became. Finally, her stomach turned and bile rose, and she shot up, and she just barely made it to the washing basin before she retched.

When the last of it had come out, she felt her knees buckling under her with sudden weakness, but strong arms caught her before she fell. Her husband carried her back to bed and lowered her to sit on the edge of bed; as soon as she was there, she started to feel better.

"Are you sick, lady wife? Should I call for a healer to check on you?" he asked in concern.

"No... no. I'm fine. I was just a bit nauseous", she said and offered him a weak little smile. "Could you pour me some water, my lord?"

He didn't look convinced that she was truly feeling better, but he did turn to pour a drink for her. She received a cup from him with a quiet thanks and took a long sip in the hopes of washing away the taste of bile from her mouth.

"Perhaps you should stay abed for the day, my lady. Maybe you just need some rest", he said, studying her with a look like he was expecting her to throw up again any moment now.

"I feel better now. Whatever it was, it's over now", she said and stood up, hoping that he wouldn't notice she was still a bit wobbly.

"Are you certain, _déor min?" _he asked.

"I am. Now stop fussing, lord husband. You sound too much like Bierwén and it is scary", she told him, which made the Marshal snort.

"Now there is something I did not expect to hear", he complained, and she distracted him with a kiss. That was usually most efficient and indeed, he fell silent now and rested a hand on that place where her shoulder joined with her neck.

"It's your own fault for making a mountain out of a molehill, my lord", she said and smiled sweetly at her husband. "Unless you want more bile-flavoured kisses, I'd like to get dressed. I believe it is time for breakfast."

Lord Éomer harrumphed, but he kissed the top of her head nonetheless and went to find his own clothes.

Sometimes, he could be kind of adorable. As she dressed, Lothíriel wondered why she had not noticed that before.

* * *

**A/N: **And update! I felt the need of something sweet this time, hope you readers like it! Also a closer look on Dreda, who is stubborn as ever... And what effect Ethelgifu's words may have remains yet to be seen.

I'm in something of a hurry, so I can't answer any reviews this time, but they're all appreciated nevertheless! Thanks for reading and reviewing! 3


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

That day of late June was positively stifling. Éomer had trouble remembering when he had last seen a summertime so hot like this one, as usually the wind from the western lands kept the temperature from rising too high. His grandmother had no such problem in remembering, however: "On that summer a year before you were born, my dear. That's when I've last seen a heat wave like this."

A large smile had come to her face when she had said that, and she looked like she was enjoying some private joke so much that the heat didn't even bother her. Shrugging, he had left his grandmother soon after that, wondering to himself if she was starting to lose it on her old age.

But duty never cared if weather was favourable, and so he had to ride out to investigate some orc sightings in the eastern parts – a matter which very much worried Éomer, as it appeared that orcs were growing ever bolder and their marauding more frequent. He had tried to talk with his uncle about it, but Théoden King's reaction was best described as "unresponsive".

Patrols had proved useless however, and after couple of days he had decided they'd turn back to Aldburg. The heat was exhausting both for the men and the horses, and by the time they came home, Éomer himself felt like he was already half-cooked inside his heavy armour.

As soon as they entered the courtyard, he cast about a searching look, before even realising what it was he trying to see... but as there was no dark hair or pale face to be spotted, it came to him as though in an afterthought that he was disappointed not to see his wife.

Mistress Bierwén was there at least, and as soon as he had dismounted, he strode to meet her.

"Welcome back, my lord. Was your patrol prolific?" she asked when he approached.

"It was a wild goose chase, if anything", he said as he took off his helmet. Oh, it had never felt as good to get rid of that piece of armour! He looked at the chatelaine, "Is all well with my wife?"

"Lady Lothíriel is fine. She just got into a bath when a word of your arrival came. She looked tired so I decided it best to let her have a moment of rest. Did I do wrong, my lord?" Bierwén asked.

"No, I trust your judgement", answered the Marshal; he too had noticed that his wife looked kind of fatigued these days. She gave him a long look from head to toes, and harrumphed.

"If I may say so, a bath would do good for you as well, Lord Éomer", she told him, which had him chuckling.

"My dear Bierwén, for the past three hours, a cold bath has been the only thing I've been able to think of", he answered. "I'll call for more water, if need be."

As soon as he had dismissed his chatelaine and given the orders to his men, he made his way inside. Impatiently, he worked over the buckles that held his vambraces on place and was still in the middle of doing that when he entered their bedchamber. But when he got there, a vision of dream made him stop at the door.

His wife, sitting in a tub and bathed in the golden light of late summer afternoon. The look on her face was that of peace as she hummed under her breath and soaped her arms, and droplets of water crawled over the white skin he yearned to touch and kiss. _Oh, Béma. _He had known she was beautiful, but never more than she was now.

She didn't turn to meet his eyes, but a smile came to her face, and she asked: "Is it the first time you see a woman bathing, lord husband?"

That did caught the Marshal unawares, and at first he didn't know how to react or what to answer. Her, the Princess of Dol Amroth, acting cheeky at him?

"Why would you ask that, lady wife?" he inquired, tearing his eyes away from her and trying to concentrate on getting rid of his armour. He was fairly sure he ought to get undressed before acting on any impulses.

"Oh, I don't know", she said and settled back to watch him. "There was just this look on your face when you stopped there to stare at me, my lord."

"Well, you do look very beautiful", he said bluntly, which in turn seemed to take her aback. He smiled at that and started to work over his chest plate. "And not just beautiful. A vision."

"Oh, stop it, you", she said, her surprised face turning into a smile again.

"Make me", he answered, his fingers working over the buckles faster now.

"Maybe I will", answered his wife, and she lifted one shapely leg to rest on the edge of the tub, all the while smiling most innocently. He might have blurted out some words one should not say in the presence of a lady... but then, he was under the impression ladies did not show their legs the way she was just doing. Or did they? He realised: his wife was seducing him! Who'd have believed?

His attempt to get rid of his armour became more of a struggle than anything, and he didn't even care anymore if she saw what effect she was having on him. He shook off his chest- and backplates, letting them fall where they may; he might regret later undressing so carelessly, but he really was not of the mind to let that bother him now.

"I'd like to see you try", he informed her and pulled his chain-mail over his head. Really, she had been right to ask why he had to wear so much. All this armour truly was bothersome!

"I'll try as soon as my lord husband gets rid of his clothing", Lothíriel said serenely, smiling smugly at him.

"You just wait, wife", Éomer answered. "Now, tell me, how is the water?"

"Why don't you come and try out, husband?" she offered, giving him a meaningful look from under her eyelashes. As soon as he saw that, he decided he could wonder about her behaviour later.

"I'm getting to that presently, _déor min", _he answered, finally reaching his breeches. And as soon he had at last relieved himself of last of his clothing, he gave his wife a large smile and made his way towards the tub, and no more conversations were had, at least not for a while.

"Really, one must wonder", he remarked after a long time. At that point, half of the bath water appeared to have relocated on the floor of the bedchamber, and his wife was resting against his chest and leaning her head on his shoulder. Had he known this waited for him in Aldburg, he'd ridden home yesterday... or perhaps even sooner.

"One must wonder what, my lord?" she asked drowsily, stroking his knee absent-mindedly.

"About what precisely has you behaving like this, lady wife. I thought you had no time for other things than being grumpy", he said, which had her shifting so quickly that he knew it might not have been the best thing to say.

"Grumpy?! Excuse me! You're calling me grumpy? You, who should be called the Marshal of Grumpy!" she exclaimed and turned around.

"I'm merely blessed with calm personality, dearest wife", he told her as lightly as he could. That made her snort.

"If even half of the stories Eadmod tells me are true, calm is the last thing you are, lord husband", she said sharply and started to furiously soap his chest – so furiously that he wondered if she was attempting to wash away the hair on his chest.

"What does she tell you?" Éomer asked and kept his eyes on her face; it wouldn't do to get excited when his wife was cross with him.

"Lots of things, and most of them imply that you, my lord, are a hot-tempered oaf", she announced emphatically. He really couldn't help but smile at that, and he wondered why he had never noticed what a sweet thing she could be. She continued, "And I do think she was right to say that, my lord, because have you even seen yourself? It's like you think that it might kill you if you smiled a bit every now and then..."

She looked like she would have continued ranting, but he effectively stopped that by kissing her. When he pulled back, he said, "I am smiling now, wife."

At that, she finally stopped with the task of soaping him, and her face turned serious. He did smile at her however, and slowly, a similar expression dawned on her face.

"That you are, husband", she said softly. Then she leant to kiss him and he pulled her close.

He didn't say it at that time, but to himself Éomer thought that this married life really wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Scýne was on her way back inside the Hall when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone retching. At first, she thought with displeasure of some drunkard riders who were too fond of drinking horns, but then she heard the gasping sound: the noise was not a male one. Brow furrowing, Scýne wondered what it was about.

She found the Lady of the house leaning against the back wall of the stables, looking thoroughly ill and pale. She was breathing heavily and Scýne did not need to be told that it was the princess who had been emptying her stomach here.

"My lady?" Scýne called carefully, "Are you ill?"

"I'm fine now. I'm fine", Lothíriel said, brushing a hand across her eyes. "I just felt a bit nauseous. It was so hot inside..."

"The Hall isn't one of the most pleasant places on hot days like this", Scýne agreed, though she wasn't so sure this was all there was to the princess' nausea. However, she did not say that out loud, but offered her mistress a smile, and asked: "Would you like to walk with me for a bit? It might make you feel better, my lady."

"That sounds good", Lothíriel answered and wiped cold perspiration from her forehead. Linking arms, the two women began walking.

"Are you getting enough of sleep, my lady? You look so tired these days", Scýne commented after a while.

"It's this heat, Scýne. It's hard to fall asleep when it's so hot. Even with the window open... and my lord husband is always glowing heat. It doesn't help either that he's fond of cuddling", said the princess quietly. While Scýne was glad to hear the relations between the two had improved to that point, it did still worry her that the princess had trouble sleeping.

"Oh, I understand. It has been an uncommonly hot summer this year", Scýne commented. "Usually it is more bearable. How was it back in Dol Amroth?"

"It never really gets too hot there, what with the sea winds", Lothíriel said. "It is actually very pleasant during the summer."

She fell silent then and looked down, and Scýne guessed she was missing her home. Though past couple months had gone by rather quickly and the princess seemed more comfortable in her position these days, Scýne did know that the younger woman longed to see her home and family just as much as she had in the beginning.

They walked on and eventually they came across the training grounds that were located behind the Marshal's Hall. Most of the time, they were used by the Marshal's master of arms and the young riders in training, but the seasoned warriors also took time to spar there with each other, or perhaps give lessons to the boys hoping to join Lord Éomer's riders.

Some riders along with the Marshal himself were in the middle of sparring as the two women halted to observe them. Though all of them were sweating and filthy, it didn't look like they really noticed the heat. But they probably did, given that they had all relieved themselves of armour and even their coats. Scýne glanced at the princess, who followed the Marshal with her eyes. Lord Éomer was fighting two men at the moment and wearing a face of intense concentration.

"I sometimes watched my brothers sparring with each other. Once, I asked my oldest brother Elphir why would he keep practising although he had perfected his swordsmanship already. Apparently he didn't want to go soft or something like that", Lothíriel commented. Then she frowned, "Why aren't they wearing any armour or guards? Those practise swords may be blunt but I've listened enough of my brothers complaints to know how much they can hurt."

Scýne shrugged, turning to look at her own husband who was engaged in a swordfight with young Elric. The boy was looking positively exhilarated.

"It's because they think each blow that hits is a lesson well earned. Better be bruised on training grounds than killed in a battle", she said. As they were standing with arms linked, she could feel the princess shiver; she guessed it was because the Lady of the house was thinking of some gruesome scene where her husband lay dead. Scýne had had her own share of visions like that, and the idea of losing her husband to the beast of war was something that would never quite stop haunting her.

The princess had fallen silent, and Scýne glanced at her. She immediately took note of the ill look on the younger woman's face.

"My lady? Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, no. I'm fine", Lothíriel said and turned to smile at the older woman. Scýne decided the princess would not hear any of it if she tried to pursue the matter, but she did think to herself that she'd have to keep a close eye on the Marshal's wife.

After a moment, the princess spoke again: "I was thinking I'd go for a ride. I'm finally starting to get a hang of riding astride, and it feels like I've missed half the fun ever since now."

Scýne smiled at that.

"I can imagine, my lady. Personally, I find those side-saddles ridiculous. I'd ask to come along, but this little thing would probably disagree", she said and gestured vaguely about her belly. As if in an answer, the baby kicked.

"Of course. Once you've given birth, we'll go riding together", Lothíriel promised, and the two women returned inside.

* * *

The battle training had been especially exciting that day, as the young riders in training had been allowed to observe the men from the Marshal's éored spar with each other. Even Elric's father had joined, which was always something to look forward to. They said Father was one of the greatest warriors in the Riddermark and it was Elric's dream to one day become like him.

That was the exciting part of training, and if Elric had learnt anything, it was that the boring things always came after exciting ones. That was so today too, as he and Brego were on the stable duty; apparently some cruel adult had thought it'd be a good idea to put the young riders to work in the stables, which usually meant shovelling horse manure among other unpleasant chores.

But that day their stable duty went by moderately fast as the two boys enthusiastically talked about the day's battle training and the things they had seen the riders performing. It was just before dinnertime that they were finished, and Brego went along to see his parents. As for Elric, he stopped to watch the riders that was just entering the courtyard: there was Lady Lothíriel, along with her maidservant and some of Father's men. Well, she was the mistress of the house, so she couldn't just go for a ride all alone. Judging by their wind-blown looks, they had just had quite a ride. Elric had seen the princess training to ride astride like a proper Rohir, which was what she was doing now. Father had tried to explain him the whole business with side-saddles – apparently it was not proper in Gondor for ladies to wear leggings when they rode, so they had to use those silly saddles if they were wont to travel somewhere horseback.

As soon as they stopped, stablehands came to receive horses, and to himself, Elric hoped that the steeds wouldn't unmake all the work he and Brego had gotten done that day. But then he took note of Lady Lothíriel's expression, and thoughts of horses left him. She looked pale and ill... she shifted in the saddle and the stablehand was asking her something, but she didn't answer...

Before he could think, Elric ran, and it was a good thing that he did, for she doubled over in the saddle and then she fell; it was only because of the boy's quick reaction that he got there by her side in time. She fell on his waiting arms and the suddenness of her weight made his knees buckle under him. Elric fell too, doing his best to support the limp weight that was the wife of his father.

"My lady! My lady!" Elric called her, but she wouldn't answer. She wasn't even awake. Hurriedly, he glanced at the stablehand who had ran around the horse. "Go and get my Father! Quickly!"

The man ran to get the Marshal, but Elric had already turned his attention back to the unconscious princess. Father would be so unhappy if something happened to her! So he slapped her cheeks in an attempt to wake her up and called her...

"Make way!" bellowed Father's powerful voice over the crowd that had gathered about Lady Lothíriel and Elric, and then the Marshal came running. Elric had always thought his father was scared of nothing, but the look he saw then on the bearded face of his sire was that of fear.

"Father, she fell from the saddle, but I caught her – I can't wake her up..." Elric said quickly. But then, as his father fell on his knees and reached for her, she opened her eyes and called Elric's father by his given name.

* * *

The moment he saw she had fallen, Éomer understood just how it would feel if she were gone. He did not know when it had happened and at which point she had come to mean _this, _but somehow Princess Lothíriel, his lady and his wife, had become important. If she died...

When Elric gingerly helped her into his arms, she awoke, and the first word from her mouth was: "Éomer."

It was barely coherent and her eyes rolled unfocused and wild as he gathered against his chest, but it was his name that she spoke.

"It's all right. I've got you. I've got you", he told her. Damning himself for not calling the healers the other day when she had been nauseous, Éomer picked her up from the ground and strode swiftly inside. Ceola had enough sense to go and call for Master Ferdbrego, but as soon as Éomer had placed his wife on their bed and the healer had arrived, he was more or less driven away from the chamber.

And so he paced the corridor, while in his mind he went over numerous scenes... all of which ended with her death. Oh, it was _scary. _He hated feeling scared and helpless; for all his skills as a warrior, he had no idea of how to save her if she was really going to die. And what was he going to tell her father? Oh, Prince Imrahil would murder him!

He was distracted from these thoughts when the voice of his son called: "Father?"

The boy, evidently having followed him inside, looked just as worried as the Marshal himself felt. The big heart that he was, to Elric it didn't probably even seem odd that he'd feel worry for a woman who did not seem like him too much. Sometimes he was so much like Fealu.

"Is the lady princess ill?" Elric asked as he approached him.

"I don't know, son", said the Marshal quietly. The young Rohir placed a hand on his father's arm and looked up at him, with an attempt of a smile on his face.

"I'm sure she'll be all right, Father", he insisted softly.

"Of course", Éomer said and gave his son a one-armed hug. The boy looked at him thoughtfully.

"You like her", he observed quietly. "I mean, the way adults like each other."

"Son, I..." Éomer began, trying to think of something to say. Of course Elric would see to the core of it. And the truth was, he _did _like his wife. She could be so sweet sometimes, and some things she did... she made him smile. That wasn't something that often happened.

"Do you think she likes you back?" asked the boy enthusiastically.

"I'd hope so", answered the Marshal quietly as he rested a hand on his son's shoulder.

Elric looked like he was about to say something, but then Master Ferdbrego opened the door, and the father and the son both turned to look at him inquisitively.

"Well? Is my wife sick?" Éomer demanded right away.

"She is fine, my lord. The Princess just needs to rest and eat more, and there shouldn't be these fainting spells anymore", said the elderly Rohir. A shadow of a smile briefly vacated his face, and he said, "My congratulations, Lord Marshal. Your lady wife is with child."

Elric let out an exhilarated laugh and he hugged his father's waist. As soon as the Marshal was able to react from his surprise, he answered his son's hug. Elric grinned happily, looking like he could barely contain himself.

"Looks like your little brother or sister is on their way", he told the boy, his voice thick with emotion. _She was with child. _

A moment later, he entered their bedchamber – he barely paid any attention to Ceola, who was exiting just then. His wife lay on her back, staring off to distance and wearing a face he couldn't quite read. Was she happy for the knowledge that their child was growing inside her?

_Their child. _His, just as much as it was hers. Somehow that made him feel a bit dizzy. Even if he had Elric already, this was... well, he wasn't so sure what this was. Nevertheless, he hoped it was a good thing.

_But she's only eighteen. _So young... why hadn't that ever occurred to him? It was that spark in her eyes, had to be – it made him forget.

"How do you feel, my lady?" he asked as he sat down beside her.

"I'm feeling better, lord husband", she answered and turned to look at him. Her face still gave no clue as to how this situation made her feel. His brow furrowed.

"Is that true now?" Éomer asked. Absent-mindedly, he picked up one of her hands in his own.

"It was true then as it is now. I just didn't..." Lothíriel said, but then she fell silent and looked away.

"Are you..." he began, but then he hesitated. How to continue that sentence? He tried again, "I understand if you're scared, my lady."

She sighed.

"I expected it'd happen sooner or later", said his wife quietly. "I just thought it would be later. I don't know if I'm ready for this."

Ever so gently, he lay a hand on her stomach. He looked down on his fingers, resting on her nightgown.

"You are not alone in this, my lady", he said softly. "I... whether it is a boy or a girl, I hold it precious already."

She let out a sob and he could see her eyes welling with tears. _She was so young... _of course she wouldn't be ready for this. Of course she'd be terrified. Gently, Éomer pulled his wife into his arms and held her close.

"It'll be all right", he murmured into her hair while she shook with quiet tears.

He held her until she fell asleep.

* * *

The moist breath from the window woke her up that night. Slowly, she came around from her dreams. The room was dark and quiet, and her husband was asleep beside her; he lay on his side and rested his head on his arm, looking like he had been watching her before he had fallen asleep. She remembered he had held her until her exhaustion had taken its toll... he must have had better things to do, but he had stayed with her. And for the moment, it had felt right to let him carry her. How he had looked at her, when she had come around, and he had been kneeling beside her...

No one had ever looked at her like that.

There was little light in the room, but enough of it came from outside for her to see him. When he slept, he was so... what was the word for it? It was like he were someone younger, and less plagued by cares. Relaxed in sleep, he looked kind of gentle even. Seeing him like that, she realised she had never really given him a chance... but she was starting to feel like maybe she should.

How else would she be able to get through this?

_The father of her child... _

A lightning flashed outside and faraway rumble of thunder followed. Perhaps it was that which woke him up, or maybe it was just her hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked at her sleepily.

"Everything fine, my lady?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"All is well", she whispered and leant forward to kiss him. He answered that gently, slowly... his fingers travelling across her side, and hers entwining with his. Somehow, the callous feel of them brought her a sense of safety. Quietly, she said, "It would be fine if you just called me by my name."

"... Lothíriel", he said at length, and then he pulled her close to himself. She barely heard him when he spoke: "Likewise, if you will."

"Yes. I will", she said and lifted her face to kiss him again.

The scent of rain breathed in and the thunder rolled. For the first time in days, she felt cold... but only until her husband gathered her in his arms and held her close until the dawn chased away the storm clouds, and a bright new day was upon the Mark.

* * *

Dreda had once heard Éothain calling Hrodgar "the wicked twin of Ethelgifu", and when she looked at the man, she couldn't help but agree with the Captain's observation. Granted, Hrodgar didn't usually appear as peculiar as Ethelgifu did and his words at least made much more sense than hers. Had he chosen, he could even have passed as any other man of Rohan. But he didn't, and that was what made Hrodgar what and who he was.

He lived on the lower slopes of the hill that was the town of Aldburg. That area was generally vacated by shadier folk than the immediate surroundings of the Marshal's Hall or the markets. His home was more of a hut than an actual house, windowless and reeking with strange and unpleasant smells. Hrodgar always wore nothing but furs, even on these hot summer days. Dreda had heard his father had been a renowned warrior and a trusted man of Lord Éomund's, and Hrodgar would likely have followed the profession of his sire... but only if he had not been trampled by a horse when he had been a young boy. Miraculously, Hrodgar had survived, but the accident had left him with a limp and weakness on his left side. A Rohirric rider had to be an able-bodied man, strong and healthy, and cripples had no place in an éored.

She didn't know much more than that of Hrodgar, except that he had studied the arts of healers but had chosen a different path in life. Indeed, when people needed a healer, they would go ask for one at the Marshal's Hall. But when they had other sort of business... love potions, divinations, charms of luck and other such things, Hrodgar was consulted. It wasn't something people would have admitted, though. A widely known fact was that Marshal Éomer did not have great love or trust for the arts of this man, but tolerated him as Hrodgar wasn't considered dangerous.

Dreda deemed that was only because Éomer did not really know what Hrodgar was truly capable of.

When she knocked at the soothsayer's door that night and entered, there was a dark deed in her mind. But there was no regret or doubt, for she had made her choice: she'd fight for what was hers, even if it meant she needed the help of a man some called a witch. After all, battles had never been won with kindness of heart.

"Hrm. I thought you might come sooner or later", Hrodgar grumbled as she stood at the door. Dreda had halted there and was now surveying her surroundings. The hut had only one room, which was illuminated by a single candle, so it was difficult to make much of the shadows. The strange stench was even stronger here, but she did her best to hide her disgust. They said it wasn't wise to anger a man such as Hrodgar.

"And now I did", she said. He harrumphed and sat down, all the while studying her with eyes as black as night.

"Well? What is it you want of me?" Hrodgar asked at last. His sharp, weathered face betrayed no emotion as he watched her.

"I have come to ask for a potion", Dreda answered. She dug through her pocket and found the small purse, which jingled with coin. His eyes rested on the purse only for a brief moment before he looked at her again.

"What sort of potion?" he asked, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

"The kind to... to rid a woman of a man's seed", Dreda said; it impressed even herself to hear the cold emptiness of her voice.

"Hrm", was all Hrodgar answered and for the longest time, he sat silent. Still his face showed nothing and Dreda could only wonder what this request made him think. But then, she had a feeling he might have heard much darker things during his time. One did not become like Hrodgar if an intention such as hers startled him. Maybe he even thought it was for herself.

Finally, he stood up and picked up the candle. He limped over to a tall shelf that was filled with all kinds of objects from vials of different sizes to boxes, containers, pots and jars. He muttered quietly to himself but his voice was so quiet that Dreda couldn't tell what he was saying, and she decided she didn't even want to know. Finally, he pulled out a small dim vial, which was full of clear, colourless liquid. He held it close to fire as he studied it.

"This particular batch turned out rather strong", he said at length, still inspecting the vial. "So three drops is the most you should use at one time. Even then, I do not recommend taking more of it any time soon. That should have the desired effect, nonetheless... but count the drops well. Like I said, it is a strong mixture. Any more than three drops will likely kill you."

Dreda reached her hand for the vial, but Hrodgar's fingers closed around it.

"First, the payment", he grunted and gave her a sharp look.

"Of course", she answered and opened her purse. "How much?"

"One silver", said the soothsayer.

"That is too much", Dreda argued, but Hrodgar's face remained unrelenting.

"Fine. Then you can go and ask someone else", he said indifferently and turned to put the vial back to its place.

"Wait!" she said quickly, fishing a silver coin from the purse. This was worth all the silver in the world. "I'll take it. Here's the payment."

When she placed the money on Hrodgar's hand and he gave her the vial, Dreda thought she could see him smile.

* * *

Sometimes, when Elric would have a free moment from his battle training or his chores, he'd go out to the plains with Dreda. She'd let him ride with her as his father had not yet given him a horse of his own. They would ride into a small valley near Aldburg; the tall hills gave shelter from wind and so many flowers and herbs thrived there. They'd pick up some for Master Ferdbrego, who'd use them for his medicines. More ordinary herbs grew there as well, and Mildburg (a woman working in the Marshal's kitchens) would prepare them to be used for tea.

As it was a nice and sunny day, Dreda decided it'd be a good occasion for such a trip. Elric eagerly joined of course... and especially because sometimes she'd even let him ride – but only after they had left Aldburg behind. He knew Father didn't approve of him riding unattended, not even though Elric had numerous times told him that Father himself had already been riding at the age of eleven, like Grandmother Eadmod had said.

The afternoon went by quickly, as the trips with Dreda always did. The weather had been favourable this summer, and so the valley was brimming with foliage. As such it didn't take too long for the two of them to get Dreda's basket full, and once they were done, they sat down to enjoy some lunch.

When they were in the middle of their meal, Dreda looked at Elric thoughtfully.

"You must be very excited, Elric", she said at length, "now that you're going to become a big brother."

The boy grinned at that. Indeed, he was excited, even though he knew the baby wouldn't be born until next year. It didn't even show yet that his father's wife was with child. The whole town knew already of course: the news had spread like wildfire as soon as it had been discovered that Lady Lothíriel was pregnant.

"Aye! I can hardly wait", he said happily. "Why must it take so long? I'd like him or her to be born tomorrow or today already!"

"Childbirth is complex business, Elric. None of us are ready for the world in just one day", Dreda answered, taking a bite of her bread.

"Hmm. Do you think it's going to be a girl or boy?" Elric asked. "I'd like it to be a boy, so we could spar with each other, and I could teach him to ride when he grows up. But a little sister would be nice too. Maybe she would like to come with us to pick herbs and flowers!"

"No doubt she would", Dreda said quietly, turning to look at the valley. Elric did not notice the look on her face, for he was too busy imagining all the things he could do with his little sibling once she or he was born. Maybe, if he showed what a good big brother he was, Lady Lothíriel would like him better too? Aye, he'd be the most devoted brother in all of the Mark!

"What does your father think of the baby?" she asked then.

"He's really glad about it", Elric said and picked up a piece of ham. "He decided he'd make a cradle for the baby himself, and he said I could help. I wonder, is the baby going to look like Father or Lady Lothíriel?"

"I suppose that remains to be seen", Dreda said quietly. Then her gaze became sharp and alert, and she leant towards the boy. "Elric, you would do anything to keep your little brother or sister safe, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would", he answered, slightly confused now.

"And you'd want the baby to be healthy and strong?" she asked, at which he could just nod.

Dreda smiled and reached for her pocket. She pulled out a small vial that was filled with some clear liquid.

"What is that?" Elric asked.

"This is something to help the baby, and the princess. It'll make sure nothing happens to them, and you'll get a strong little brother. I'd give it to her but she doesn't really like me, so I don't think she'd want it from me", Dreda said gently, though there was a frown on her face.

"Then tell Father of it, and he'll give it to her!" said the Marshal's son.

"No, it doesn't work like that. You see, this is something of a magic potion. It works the better if the child's parents don't know of it", she explained.

"I've never heard of potion like that", Elric said. He was frowning now too.

"It's because it's not very common. Parents don't know of it because they're not _supposed _to know", she said. "If they did, then the potion would probably not even work."

"That is strange", Elric commented. He had never seen magic at work, but he knew there were strange powers in this world... things that mortal men did not understand. Elves, goblins, magic rings, dragons – even wizards. Uncle Théodred had once told him of Wizard Gandalf, and Elric hoped he might once meet him.

"It wouldn't be magical if it wasn't strange", Dreda said and patted the boy's knee. "Now, I can't give it to the Princess, but you can. It's more powerful that way. You just need to make sure no one sees you pour it to her drink, and soon a wonderful baby brother will be born. You want to help your Father, don't you?"

Elric nodded eagerly at that, and he took the vial from Dreda's hand.

"Of course I do. Father will be happy, won't he? And the Princess too? She'll like me, if I do this?" he asked urgently.

"Oh, yes. They'll love you for it", she answered softly, and Elric never noticed anything strange about her smile.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I've said it before. My muse has a mind of his own. I must say, it surprises even myself to see all the places this piece is going, and I can't help but snigger evilly into my metaphorical beard.

Indeed, Lothíriel is with child. If you're wondering how the timeline is going, they got married in the beginning of May and it is now late June, so it should be possible for her to have the symptoms already. I'm not sure who even is the most excited one, but it's either Elric or Eadmod. Éomer is happy as well, but I'm not sure Lothíriel is as untroubled.

As for why Elric believes Dreda... well, you must remember he's a young boy, and he's generally a trusting person, even kind of innocent. On the top of that Dreda is someone he knows and trust well, so at this point there's no reason for him to doubt her. He's so young that he doesn't really understand the darker workings of human mind so well yet.

Oh, and as a sidenote: I just enjoy writing bath tub scenes with Éomer and Lothíriel! Don't judge me! :D

* * *

**SymphonicPoem - **You guessed right - she _is _pregnant. But for her marriage this isn't necessarily a bad thing. Whether she and the baby will be safe remains to be seen, however.

**Talia119 - **Hopefully my Author's Note answers your question about the timeline. This is taking place on the year 3017, and Théodred's death and war occur on year 3019. I may go AUish at some points but I'll try to follow the canon timeline as well as I can.

As for Dreda, I do believe that it's not just all in her head. Well, large part of it is, but I think Éomer at least likes her even if he doesn't love her as much she loves him. Had Lothíriel not come along, she'd likely have been his first choice for a wife unless something else came up. I'd say that troubles him more than he says or shows.

Also, I'm glad to hear you think so! :) It's really great if I've been able to reach that level of originality!

**peachpaige - **Thanks for your compliments! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It had been some time since Éomer had last felt any enthusiasm at the prospect of visiting Edoras. Most of the time these days, he'd feel the heaviness in his heart grow the closer he got to the capital of Rohan, even if he was glad for the fact that he'd soon see his sister. But this time, there was no ill feeling threatening to take over him. Instead, he was somehow almost excited.

His wife had suggested he send a messenger, but he had told her he'd rather deliver this news himself. And a Marshal should consult with his King every now and then anyway. Among the other things he should talk with his uncle about organising a more permanent watch on the eastern borders, even though he already more or less knew how that conversation would end.

As always, Éowyn was there to receive him when he rode with his men to the courtyard of the Golden Hall. She stood tall and proud on the stone terrace, a faint smile on her face when she looked down at him. Sometimes, he wondered why his sister was still unmarried... but then he'd look at her and realise that there were not many men in Rohan to match her in spirit and will. Éowyn was a daughter of Kings. He had never found it in himself to tell her, but she was someone he would have to be more like in mind.

"Brother", she greeted him when Éomer made his way up the steps. "Good to see you so soon."

"Likewise, sister", he answered and gave her a one-armed hug. Then, unable to hold it inside himself that longer, he grinned and said, "or perhaps I should call you an aunt."

At his words, Éowyn's eyes widened.

"An aunt? Béma be kind! Your wife is already expecting?" she asked, and there was delight in her eyes.

"She is. It is unexpected, yes... but I have a good feeling about this", he said quietly. His sister lay a hand on his shoulder and smiled.

"As you should. If you're as good as you've been with Elric, I don't think you have anything to worry about", Éowyn said. "I'm glad for you, brother. You're finally getting that which we both have dreamt of ever since our parents died."

"Aye", Éomer said, his voice turning quiet.

"How is the Princess? Is she as excited as you are?" Éowyn asked as they made their way inside. That finally made Éomer's smile falter.

"She's... well, it was something of a shock to her, to realise she's with child. She's so young..." he said and lowered his eyes. Sometimes, it worried him. Had he been too urgent with his passions for her?

"Just be there for her when she needs you, and she'll be all right. It's a child, not the end of the world", Éowyn said gently. "I suppose it's only natural that she'd be shocked. Her life has changed so much in less than a year."

"Indeed. But we seem to be getting along better, and... I'm glad to have this child, Éowyn. And I'm glad that it is _her _baby", he told her quietly. His sister was possibly the only person in the world he felt comfortable telling this... perhaps some time soon, it'd be as easy to tell his wife these things too.

"It is good to hear. Your child will be well-loved", Éowyn said and smiled. "Come, let us go and speak with Uncle. He seems to be in good health today. I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear this news."

But what if he didn't? Éomer couldn't help but worry that the King would be indifferent to the prospect of becoming a great-uncle.

It was as Éowyn had said, though. Uncle did seem more alert today, and in his blue eyes Éomer could see the light of wisdom that had used to sparkle there in days past. He was sat on his usual place, dressed in the furs he appeared to prefer these days. Sometimes, it was almost painful to look at him and remember the man he had once been.

"My lord", called the Marshal and he bowed his head as a sign of respect and allegiance. He was glad to see Wormtongue was not present at the moment.

"Sister-son", answered Théoden; it had been some time since he had last called Éomer that, which instantly made him lift his eyes and search his uncle's face with growing hope. The King asked: "What brings you here?"

"I have some happy news, my lord", he said, and he couldn't hold back his smile then. He lowered himself on his knee on the front of his uncle. "House of Eorl is soon to receive a new member. My wife, Princess Lothíriel, is with child. You're about to become a great-uncle, my King."

Théoden's aged face broke into a smile and he let out a soft little laughter. His eyes cleared and he placed a hand on Éomer shoulder.

"That is truly great news, sister-son! I am happy for you, and for your princess. As soon as the child is born and they can travel, you must bring your family to Edoras. I'd wish to see your child as soon as it is born", said the King.

"I will do that gladly, my lord", Éomer said, smiling at his uncle. As ever, Théoden's good will meant the world to him... and perhaps a child was what they needed to reach the King again and bring him back to his kin.

But then the shadows moved and Gríma Wormtongue appeared, silent and pale as a ghost. As ever, the very sight of him made the Marshal's blood boil with hatred, but he held his silence when the King's adviser approached.

"My lord, aren't you-" Wormtongue began in those familiar soft tones that Éomer so detested. But this time, it was the King himself who silenced him.

"I will not be needing you today, Gríma. You are dismissed for the day", said Théoden, whose eyes were still fixed on his nephew. "Now, sister-son, do tell me of your wife. How fares she, now that she is expecting? And your son, Elric. I trust his battle training is going well. It has been too long since we've had a proper talk."

"Aye, my King", Éomer answered, and he did not even try to hide his grin.

* * *

Elric had never been happier to see the Princess of Dol Amroth as he was on an afternoon two days after Dreda had given him the potion.

He had been alone in the stables, cleaning some saddles, when Aesc with his friends Cenhelm and Leofric had appeared. The master of stables Wulfric had taken the horses to pastures as it was a rather nice weather, and other stablehands had gone with him, so Elric had been effectively left all alone to look after the old and worn saddles. He'd have liked to go along with others but apparently his turn would come later.

Be it as may, what happened was the usual thing whenever Aesc managed to catch him alone: calling him "the pup", the two other boys sniggering at the background, and unwelcome comments on the fact that Elric's mother had been but a kitchen maid and not even married to his father... and then, as he tried to punch the older boy, he was pushed back and he stumbled and fell down. He had never told Father of it, because he knew very well how that would have gone. But Captain Éothain, who had once pulled the two boys from a fistfight, said Aesc acted like this because he was still angry about what had happened to his own sire. Aesc's father had died in a battle and his mother had remarried a man who wasn't even a rider.

"And you're son to the finest warrior in the Mark", Éothain had said seriously. "So forgive Aesc, even if it's not always easy."

It certainly wasn't, but then again, his father's wife had never been there to intervene before.

"Oi! Lads!" she exclaimed in her heavily accented Rohirric, and her voice was bright and so piercing that all four froze where they were. Though the princess was about average height, that moment she seemed to stand taller than even Father, hands on her hips and glaring at the boys with those sharp grey eyes of hers. "What precisely do you think you're doing here?"

"We were just..." Aesc began, blinking in surprise and confusion.

"You were wasting the time you could have spent helping Master Hereward with the practise swords!" said the Princess sternly, her voice rising up at least couple of octaves. She seemed to grow ever taller, and she spoke, "What kind of a rider sneaks about in the stables to bully his peers like this? Lord Éomer would be appalled if I told him!"

That made the boys look seriously startled and they shared some very concerned looks with each other. Elric had more or less forgotten about everything else: with wide unblinking eyes, he looked from the boys to his father's wife. The Princess of all people defending him?

"You three better get going. And if I ever catch you acting like this again, there will be some very serious conversations!" she said sternly.

The three boys quickly made their way out and the princess watched them go with a frown on her face. As for Elric, he was still sat on the ground. He had hard time believing his father's wife had just come to his rescue, especially since he had thought she didn't like him.

After a moment of astonishment, he was finally able to pick himself up and climb on his feet. He gave a clumsy little bow to the princess.

"Thank you, my lady", he said awkwardly, blushing as he spoke.

"You're welcome", she said, quiet this time. Elric couldn't really tell what was the colour of her voice now. "Don't let those boys bully you, Elric. You're a Marshal's son, not some brat of a swineherd."

"Aye, my lady", he readily agreed. But the question still remained, and he couldn't help but blurt it out: "Why did you help me, Lady Princess?"

"You caught me when I fell", she simply said and turned around, leaving the stables as soon as she had appeared.

Elric blinked, but as soon as he recovered his voice, she was already gone. As if in an afterthought, his hand went to the little purse that hung from his belt; Grandmother Eadmod had given it to him when he had first come to live in Aldburg.

But as soon as his fingers came to contact with the thick wool of the purse, he could felt the moistness of it.

"No!" he breathed and he pushed his hand in... but the vial he had kept there was already broken: it must have happened when he had fallen down. In despair, he pulled the vial out. It's neck had snapped and the precious potion was drained!

Elric fell back down, staring at the broken vial on his palm. What an idiot he had been! He shouldn't have kept it in his purse – he should have found some more secure place for it... or he should have found the occasion to use it already. Now the potion Dreda had given to him was ruined. How was he supposed to tell her that he had failed? She would be so disappointed when she'd hear. Was there any way to get some more of it?

But then, as he stared down on the vial, Elric wondered to himself: did babies really require potions like this? Foals were born just fine without any magic potions. On the other hand, maybe human babies were different?

He sat for some time, worrying his lip as he wondered what he should do and if there was anyone he could ask. And at last it dawned to him that there was one person who could answer all the questions he had.

* * *

Late on that evening, two days after his arrival to Edoras, Éomer was in the middle of brushing Firefoot when his cousin approached him. Often the task of caring for his steed had him so concentrated that he'd barely notice anything else. His foul-tempered stallion did not have such problem, however: Firefoot would neigh and look at him, and if that wasn't enough to attract his attention, the horse would bump his head against Éomer... or perhaps bite him. Usually, it was the latter.

This time, Firefoot didn't have to go to such level. His chortle-like neigh distracted the Marshal from his thoughts and he lifted his eyes to see Théodred standing several feet away. The Prince had arrived from Hornburg couple hours before, but Éomer had not seen him until now. And after their last confrontation, he wasn't so sure if he even wanted to see his cousin.

But now Théodred stood there, wearing an apologetic look. Éomer glanced at him and lifted his eyebrows just slightly as he waited the older man to speak.

"Éowyn told me the news, cousin. I'm happy for you and your wife", Théodred began softly and took a step closer to the Marshal. "It's good for you, I think, and for Elric. That boy needs siblings."

"Thank you", Éomer said quietly, turning to look at his horse again.

"You're still angry with me?" asked his cousin at length, at which the younger man just grunted non-committally. He wasn't particularly thrilled to have this conversation. But apparently Théodred was determined to have it anyway. "Really, this enmity is the last thing we need right now, cousin. You know I'm not a man with so little honour that I'd try to tempt my own cousin's wife... and honestly, the idea that you would usurp power is one of the more ridiculous things I've heard."

"Elric did see you two, Théodred. What was I supposed to think?" Éomer asked, frowning as he continued brushing Firefoot's coat. His words made the Prince sigh.

"It was a mistake, I admit it. I did overstep some boundaries I should have left untouched, and I am sorry for that. I swear it won't happen again", he said resignedly.

"Good. If it did, I might kill you", said the Marshal, quiet and serious.

"I don't doubt that", said Théodred with just a faintest shiver evident in his voice. "You know, there's one more option as to what Ethelgifu could mean."

"I thought you didn't believe in her", Éomer remarked and shot a doubtful glance at his cousin.

"Well, I'd like not to. But ever since, I've... I've had this sense of foreboding. It could be just a feeling for all I know, but... you know what they say about seers? That their words are as good as air, but if someone _believes... _that future is bound to happen, some way or other", Théodred murmured, resting a hand on Firefoot's neck. He was one of the few people the foul-tempered stallion let so close.

"Who's being superstitious now?" asked the younger man, his task of brushing his horse mostly forgotten now. His cousin smiled.

"Oh, I know how it sounds. It's ridiculous, really. But to get to my point", Théodred said, searching the Marshal's eyes. "Your wife could still become the queen and mother of great kings. That is, if I died."

Éomer turned sharply to look at the Prince, and Théoden's son continued, "You have the best claim to the throne. In fact, I'd imagine you would be demanded to take my place. If I died now, you would become Father's heir and follow him as the King, when that day comes."

"And why should you die?" asked his cousin quietly, turning to look at his hands on Firefoot's coat.

"Why does anyone die in times like these? Better men than myself have fallen because of the orcish steel. That could very well be my fate as well, before all is said and done", Théodred answered. "And... I know you don't like the idea of being next in line as far the succession to the throne goes. But Éomer, I must know that you'll do all that you can, if something happens to me. I need to be sure that the Mark will be in good hands."

The Marshal looked at his cousin, and suddenly he could feel the older man's fear and doubt like it was his own. Frowning, he spoke: "You know that I'll fulfil my duty, whatever it might come to be... even if it was becoming the King. But there is no telling that I should live to old age either. I'm just as mortal as you are, cousin."

At that, Théodred smiled. He walked around Firefoot and lay a hand on Éomer's shoulder.

"If anyone should survive these troubled years, it is you. You're a finer warrior than I'll ever be. Yours is a spirit of fire, while mine..." he said, and fell silent with a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was vehement. "Just promise me. Promise, that you'll keep on fighting."

"I will, cousin", said the Marshal gravely, squeezing the Prince's shoulder in turn.

"Then I can die in peace, if that is my fate", Théodred whispered. "For there is no other man in the Mark that I'd trust with the future of our people."

"It is not written that you should die", Éomer argued. "And I'd rather you not, for I'm no king and I doubt I'd ever make a good one."

His cousin smiled again.

"My heart tells me that you'd be a finer king than I could even dream of", he said softly. That made the Marshal snort.

"Now you're just flattering me", he said dryly. "No more talk about dying, cousin. Our fates are not written into the stars."

"I hope that is true, Éomer", Théodred said, and after giving his cousin a pat on the shoulder, he left the stables.

* * *

Grandmother Eadmod was sat on her usual place by the window, and she was humming softly to herself when Elric entered her chamber. When he did, she turned her face towards the door.

"Elric, sweetheart, is that you?" she asked. How she knew it was him, Elric could never tell.

"It's me, Grandmother", he said and walked over to give a kiss to his great-grandmother. He could still remember the day he had first come to Aldburg, and Grandmother had been there to welcome him. She had been stronger back then and her eyesight had not yet deteriorated; as soon as she had seen him, she had taken him in her arms and hugged him tight. It was then Elric had understood how it would have felt like if his mother had still lived. In many ways, Eadmod was the closest thing to a mother he had ever had.

"Is all well, my dear?" asked Grandmother as he sat down opposite her.

"I was just wondering about babies", Elric said at length, fingering the frayed edge of his tunic.

"You're excited about your little sibling, aren't you?" Eadmod observed, smiling as she spoke. Elric knew she was just as excited about it as anyone else – maybe even more so.

"Aye, Grandmother!" he said, instantly smiling at the idea. But then he remembered the vial he had broken, and he frowned. And so he asked, "Do you think the baby will be fine on its own? And the Princess too?"

"Oh, don't worry for the two of them. Lady Lothíriel is very healthy, now that she's eating and resting properly. The only thing we can do is just wait. I know it's going to take a long while, but such is the way of children of Men", she answered softly.

"So we can't really do anything for it?" Elric asked carefully.

"Either than be of help if she asks for it, no. Just be a good lad, though I know I don't have to tell you that", Grandmother said gently.

"Do you... do you think some potions could help the Princess and the baby?" he asked after a moment of hesitation, which made Grandmother look kind of confused.

"I've never heard of such potions, my dear. Childbirth is a very natural thing, and unless something goes wrong or the mother falls ill, no outside help is needed for the nature to do its work", she said. She frowned, "What makes you ask that, Elric? What kind of potion do you even mean?"

"I was just wondering", he said quickly. "If the baby would be better off if we helped him somehow."

"My dear Elric", she said gently, searching for the boy's hand, which he readily gave to her. "You're going to be such a wonderful brother, with a heart like that."

She gave Elric's hand a gentle squeeze and continued, "I know you're anxious for the baby to be born, but we must all be patient. There aren't potions in this world to make it happen faster or to ease the pregnancy... I ought to know, having birthed four children myself. Perhaps the Elven kind might have some ways for it, but they don't often share wisdom like that."

"Not even the magical kind?" he asked, his heart turning heavier with every word that came from his great-grandmother's mouth. His question made her let out a small laughter.

"Dear boy, magical potions only exist in stories. Perhaps there were things like that in the world in ages past, but their time has passed into songs", she said gently. Then her expression became thoughtful, and Grandmother asked: "Has someone been telling you things like that are possible?"

That moment, Elric was thankful Eadmod could not see him then, for she'd have seen how the colour drained from his face. Dreda had made it clear no one should know, hadn't she? But he couldn't just lie to his Grandmother! Fortunately, he was spared from answering as that moment, Lady Lothíriel arrived.

"Eadmod, I was-" she started, but then saw Elric sitting there. Even after the incident at the stables, just looking at her made him feel like growing smaller under her gaze. He realised it was because she was _scary. _That was really strange, when he thought about it. She was just a princess, not a dragon.

"Please, come and sit with us, my dear", said Grandmother, turning her face to the direction of the door. "If you're not too busy at the moment, that is."

"I didn't want to interrupt, if you were in the middle of a conversation", said the princess, giving Elric only a quick glance that did not reveal her thoughts. The boy shot up on his feet.

"It's all right, my lady, I have to go anyway..." he answered. Before Grandmother could say anything, he had already kissed her cheek and then shot past the princess; what the two of them thought of his quick departure, he didn't know.

The conversation with Grandmother left Elric even more troubled that he had felt before, and so he made his way to the only place he could think of at the moment. That was the attic in the stables – a narrow, dusty space above the stalls. It took some climbing to get there, but usually it was quiet there except for the noises of horses and stablehands from below. At least during daytime it was one of the few private places in the Marshal's household. Brego had told him that some of the love-birds would come to the attic, and it had all sounded kind of gross and strange to Elric.

The broken vial was still there in his purse, like letting go of it would have somehow been wrong. Once again he stared down at it... but now he did that with growing doubt. Grandmother had said there were no magic potions in this world. But Dreda had said it was supposed to be a secret.

Worrying his lip, Elric wondered if he should just have told everything to his grandmother or perhaps his father. Maybe they'd have known the truth of this. Everyone said Eadmod was one of the wisest people alive, so surely she'd have known if there were secret potions and magical drinks? Yet she had said they were just stories.

Stories...

Thinking of that, Elric frowned. Grandmother often told him stories of past times, of heroes and villains and kings and queens. But in stories, whenever someone used magical potions or poured anything in secrecy to anyone's drink, it was because it was _bad. _It was always because they were trying to poison another person, and secret potions always made people very ill or killed them.

In stories, magic was dangerous. It was almost exclusively used by bad people, with the exceptions of good and wise wizards like Gandalf the Grey. And it usually ended up hurting that person who had summoned it in the first place. The more he thought of that, the more his insides filled with doubt.

Looking down on the vial Dreda had given him, he wondered for the first time: could it be that she wanted to hurt the baby?

The mere thought of that had Elric trembling with cold dread. Not only would Father be unhappy, but Lady Lothíriel as well... and there wouldn't be a baby brother or sister to teach all those things he had planned already. Why would Dreda want such thing? But then, as he thought back, he started to realise. Before Father had ridden to Mundburg, how many times had Dreda spoken of that day when the two of them would be married, and with Grandmother Eadmod and Elric they'd be a real family? But then Master Metodlác had returned the White City, and suddenly everyone was talking about how Father would marry a real Gondorian princess... Dreda had been so unhappy, and ever since she had been telling Elric how the fine Gondorian lady would never come to like him. He remembered his conversation with Father; he had confirmed that Dreda was jealous.

But jealous enough to hurt Elric's little sibling? Worse yet, she'd have _him_ do it? And to think of the possibility that the vial had not broken, and he'd have poured it into Lady Lothíriel's drink...

That had the boy trembling again and he grit his teeth. In anger, he threw the vial away, and his hands became fists. No one, not Dreda or anyone else for that matter, was going to harm the little one. If that was what it took, he'd personally stand guard to the Princess at all times. But first he'd have to make sure that Dreda would not make any attempts again.

* * *

Around dinnertime, the town of Aldburg usually quieted down as people gathered together for supper. It was the perfect time for this conversation, as Elric had decided it would be for the better if no one else was around. Dreda was, after all, his friend... or she had been. At this point, he had no idea of _what _she was. People didn't trick their friends like she had tricked him.

"You wished to speak with me", said Dreda as she entered the stables. "Is something wrong, my boy?"

"That potion you gave me", he said quietly, "it wasn't something to help the Princess and her baby. Was it?"

He stared hard at her, hoping that she wouldn't lie to him again. Dreda's face became troubled and she opened her mouth as to speak, but no voice came out, and she remained silent.

"Was it poison, Dreda?" Elric demanded to know. At that, her face became hard and focused.

"Do you actually think the Princess is ever going to accept you? She's a well-bred Gondorian noblewoman and to her your very existence is an insult. She's always going to abhor you and think of you as an intruder. She will send you away the first chance she gets. And if she's allowed to stay and give birth to that brat she's carrying, it's only going to make it real for all of us. _She will never go away", _Dreda spat, her eyes blazing with anger all of a sudden.

"You don't even know her! Maybe she'll grow to like me!" Elric argued vehemently. "And Father said you're wrong! He's not going to send me away, not even if the Princess asked for it."

"Oh, that may very well be what he says now. But sooner or later he'll change his mind. You'll see! If we don't do something now, both our lives are going to be ruined for good!" she shot back.

"You don't know that. You just say so because you're hurt and jealous. The Princess deserves a chance!" said the boy. Why couldn't Dreda just see how wrong she was?

"She doesn't! She's not going to fit in here. She's a stranger who doesn't understand us or our ways. And those children of hers – she's going to make Gondorians of them and-" Dreda ranted angrily, and her eyes blazed with her fury.

"No, she won't fit in, because of people like you!" Elric shouted, equally angry now. "But none of what you say has to be true. And Father _likes _her – he wants her here. He'd be so furious if he knew you wanted to hurt the Lady Princess."

"He doesn't – he's not – he said-" she claimed, but he could see her resolve crumbling.

"You're my friend so I'm not going to tell Father what you tried to make me do. But I'm not going to let you hurt my little sibling, or the Princess. And if you ever go near her again, Father will hear everything about this, and you know that he's going to send you away", Elric said, calmer now.

"This is only going to end to our ruin, Elric. You'll see. She's never going to accept you into their family", Dreda muttered, looking like she had lost her nerve. But her eyes remained dark and angry.

"And I'm going to prove you're wrong", said the Marshal's son, turned around, and left the scene.

* * *

_August 3017, Aldburg_

Lothíriel had been talking with the heavily pregnant Scýne (whose due date was approaching fast now) when one of the guards came to inform her that the Marshal was returning home. He had been out for a week and a half, first to visit his sister and uncle in Edoras and from there, he had gone to ride patrols in borderlands with his men. Scýne was of course worrying whether Éothain would get back home in time for childbirth, but the Princess had reassured her that Éomer would know to return with his riders before the baby came.

It took a while for them to get outside, as Scýne was not so quick or agile at this point, and the Marshal's riders had apparently already entered the town as they couldn't spot an éored from where they stood. It was a convenient thing, to live on a hill that overlooked the plains.

As they waited for the riders to arrive, Lothíriel realised she had looked forward to this moment. Somehow, the times when her husband was not in residence were... well, lonely. It was strange, because it wasn't like she didn't have any company. Scýne and Bierwén and Eadmod were already something she could call friends, even family. But in Éomer's presence there was always something reassuring – especially on those moments when she'd have her doubts. He never appeared to be anything else than glad for her pregnancy, and she knew he was already looking for some good wood for the cradle. Though she might be scared for what would happen and how it would be, he was there to support her. He truly wanted the child that was growing inside her now. That was something she had not expected.

"There they come", said Scýne then, interrupting Lothíriel's thoughts. And indeed, she could see her husband on the front of his éored... but he wasn't riding just with Éothain by his side, like he usually did. Three other people were there with him, and they were none other than Erchirion, Fainien and Amrothos.

In a squeal of excitement, she waved at them, and they were grinning back at her. As soon as the three had dismounted, Lothíriel rushed to meet them and she was more or less crushed in a hug from all sides.

"Darlings, what are you doing here? Oh, I've never been happier to see anyone before!" Lothíriel exclaimed, just barely able to hold back her tears of joy.

"Well, there was the matter of delivering your things from Dol Amroth, and we decided to come and see you", said Fainien with a huge smile on her face. She gestured at the pack-horses that were just lead into the courtyard.

"It was quite an adventure. We almost got a pack of orcs on ourselves, but fortunately Lord Éomer and his men happened to be close. The messenger we sent for help literally rode into the midst of them, and the Marshal and his men came to our aid. I've rarely seen orcs taken care of so swiftly and efficiently", Erchirion answered, nodding towards Lord Éomer who had dismounted as well and was looking a bit like he didn't really know what to do or say.

Lothíriel smiled at her husband and reached for his leather-clad hand.

"Thank you, lord husband", she said softly.

"It was an honour, my lady. One ought to protect one's family", he answered. Then he moved closer and planted a kiss on the top of her head, all the while holding her hand tight. "I'll have Bierwén take care of your things, lady wife. You'll look after our guests?"

"Of course", she answered and kissed his bearded cheek. He went about his way, leaving the princess with her brothers and sister-in-law. She spoke, "Please, follow me inside! I'll have rooms prepared for you, and there should be some food – I'm sure you're famished..."

She'd have talked more, but the look on Fainien's face had her falling silent. Lothíriel frowned, "Is something wrong?"

The older woman let out a high-pitched screech that was on the point of being the kind only dogs could hear, holding her hands on the front of her as if she were about to catch Lothíriel in an embrace. Erchirion and Amrothos looked at her just as quizzically as the princess herself felt. But then she realised her sister-in-law wasn't about to hug her again – Fainien was simply gesturing at the now noticeable bump of her belly. So, as an answer, she could only smile.

"Oh, you!" Fainien exclaimed and hugged her again.

"Did something just happen, brother? Because I feel really left out", Amrothos said to Erchirion.

"Don't look at me. I don't know either", said the older of two.

"You two dolts! Have you become blind? Don't you see it?!" Fainien squealed.

"See what?" Amrothos wondered with a frown.

"You're going to become uncles for the second time!" said Erchirion's wife, beaming and resting an arm about Lothíriel's shoulder like she were the proud father. Her words had the two brothers' eyes widening, and a look of almost identical dubious astonishment came to their faces.

"Really? You're pregnant?" Erchirion asked weakly.

"H-how?" stuttered Amrothos, at which Lothíriel snorted.

"Do I really have to tell?" she asked back, which had her older brother blushing.

"Ah, no. You don't", he answered quickly, and Fainien sniggered behind her hand. Erchirion pulled the princess into a hug again, holding her for a long moment.

"Are you all right?" he asked so softly that only she heard.

"I... I suppose I will be", Lothíriel answered at length. There would be enough of time for _this _particular conversation later, but now she needed to take care of her brothers and her sister-in-law. She smiled at them, "Please, come along. Would you like baths? Of course you do, I know how it feels like after that journey... when you've freshened up and we've eaten, I'll show you around."

With that, the four of them made their way inside, and all troubles were the furthest thing from Lothíriel's mind.

* * *

It was not so unusual these days for her to sit with her husband before going to bed. Well, she'd sit, while he'd lay on the bed, leaning his head on his arm and watching her with half-open eyes while she brushed her hair by the dressing table. They'd talk about the daily comings and goings of Aldburg, and sometimes she'd marvel quietly to herself how it was becoming less and less difficult to talk with him straightforwardly. Well, she was going to spend the rest of her life with him, so it made little sense not to talk to him.

This night, she had been telling him of her brothers and Fainien and the news from Dol Amroth. Evidently all was well in her home – mostly well, at least. There had been some pirate attacks and Father had his hands full with the task of protecting the coast, but otherwise life went on as usual in the city by the sea. Her family missed her – something she didn't mention – and they were hoping perhaps she could come and visit some time.

"And I told my brothers that they can come here any time they want as well", she continued. "I don't know if Father will be able to travel, but perhaps Elphir and Aredhel could... even take little Alphros with them, when he's old enough."

"Mm. With the roads so unsafe as it seems, they'd better send a word before they do come", Éomer commented quietly and turned to stare at the ceiling for a moment. He was wearing that one particular face now, the one that usually meant he was thinking of something not so pleasant.

"What is it?" she asked as soon as she noticed. He hesitated at first, but then he turned to look at her again.

"You didn't tell them about my son, did you?" he asked quietly. It was probably a fortunate thing that Elric wasn't home at the moment: Éomer's master in arms Elfgar had taken the young riders with him and gone out to the plains, where they'd camp for about a week. It was part of training and prepared the boys for times when they'd have to ride long patrols in the wild with the Marshal.

"I didn't. There wasn't really time for that sort of talk, but I'll take care of it tomorrow", Lothíriel said. That was certainly a matter she didn't look forward to settling, though she knew it was unavoidable. She'd rather explain things herself rather than wait for Elric to come home and her brothers and sister-in-law make their own assumptions.

"Do you wish me to be there?" asked her husband, which made her quickly cast a look at him. It was actually good to realise he'd take that responsibility. She considered his offer for a moment, but then she shook her head.

"I think it's for the better if I deal with this myself", Lothíriel decided. "I know them and I can handle them better than you would."

"As you wish, wife", he agreed. Then he asked, "What do you think they'll say?"

"Well, if I know them at all, it's probably along the line of my initial reaction", said the princess at length, and her words made him wince.

"I should expect them to throw things at me, then?" Éomer asked, which made her laugh.

"No, I doubt they'll do that. Throwing things at you is my private right anyway", Lothíriel answered lightly, but her smile eventually turned into a small frown. "But they won't be happy about it. You already know that we Gondorians have different ideas..."

"Oh, I do", he muttered under his breath, and she made a mental note for having to punish him for that comment in some elaborate way after this conversation was over.

"They'll listen to me, though. If they see that I'm... I'm fine with it, then I'd think they will know to respect my position", Lothíriel continued, which had him turning his face sharply to look at her.

"You _are _fine with it?" Éomer asked quietly, searching her eyes.

She bit her lip and hesitated. Eventually, she answered: "I'm getting there."

That brought a smile to his face – not an amused one that she was seeing more often these days, but a softer and gentler one... the kind that smoothed all signs of sternness on his features.

"Thank you, Lothíriel. It is more than I deserve", he said softly.

"Stop it, before I start throwing things at you again", she said awkwardly and quickly turned to look into the mirror again. Incidentally, there was a blush on her cheeks.

"What if I want you to do that?" he asked innocently.

"Then I won't tell you about that one thing Aredhel apparently packed for me and am wearing now under my robe", she blurted out before even thinking of it, and of course it brought a highly interested look on her husband's face.

"You wouldn't be so cruel to me", he said, "and if you were, I'd just run after you and investigate this matter myself."

"I run faster than you", she informed him.

"How would you know that?" asked the Marshal jovially.

"For one, I'm smaller than you, which means I'm more agile too. Dear husband, you should never underestimate female determination", Lothíriel said. That made him smile again.

"I'd never even dream of doubting such a formidable thing", Éomer commented. "But I can be very stubborn. Now come here, wife, before I indeed do come chasing after you."

"We can't have that, can we? People would be completely scandalised if they were to witness us running about half-naked", Lothíriel said with a smile, stood up and undid the belt of her robe, which she then shrugged off her shoulders. Her see-through nightgown did little to provide warmth but seeing the expression on her husband's face was very much worth it.

When she joined him in the bed and he pulled her in his arms with unveiled impatience, she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Hope you like it, my dear readers. :) Lothíriel seems to be getting more comfortable in Aldburg, perhaps even to the point of accepting Elric... and Dreda remains unsuccessful at the moment. We'll see how that develops.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! Comments are much appreciated. :)

* * *

**SymphonicPoem - **Dreda would probably like that, considering the state of mind she is in at the moment. But hurt as she is, she also knows such dramatic actions usually are notorious, and there's a good chance that Lothíriel would survive to tell the tale. Her main concern is to not get caught, which demands for a more subtle approach. And horrible as it is that she'd use Elric to achieve her ends, there's actually a reason why she would do that. But that's something for the story itself to tell.

**tenneyshoes - **I fear it was the real deal what Hrodgar gave to Dreda. But that bears little signifigance now that the potion has been ruined.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Just after sunrise, Lothíriel bid farewell to her husband. A word had come from Prince Théodred, asking for Lord Éomer's aid with some Dunlendings that had been causing trouble in the western lands. She could tell Éomer wasn't too happy to leave now, what with her family visiting at the moment, but she had told him he had to go.

"We'll be fine. And it's not like they're going to just leave on the morrow", she had said, and he had kissed her for a long time.

"I'll leave you with half an éored. Captain Éothain will take care of everything while I'm gone", said her husband gently; with Scýne's childbirth so close, he couldn't possibly ask for his trusted friend to come along.

"Just stay safe", she told him, which made him smile. He kissed her again and briefly rested a hand on her belly.

"I have every intention, wife. And every motivation", he said, embraced her for one last time, and then he was gone.

It took a moment for her to compose herself, but eventually she felt calm again. Éomer could handle himself in a battle, and anyway it wasn't like he was riding to meet all the armies of the enemy. Few Dunlendings could be easily taken care of.

When she turned, her eyes fell on Dreda, who had been watching the men leave as well. The fair-haired woman stared back, eyes cold and hostile. Lothíriel lifted her chin and met the gaze confidently.

But then Erchirion came from inside, scratching at the back of his head and yawning profusely.

"Morning, sister. Never knew you to be one to get up so early", he commented.

"Prince Théodred called my husband for help, so I got up to send him on his way", Lothíriel answered, wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders. She knew she ought not to think of Éomer and the dangers he'd face too much at the moment.

"Goodness me. I didn't expect that", said her brother with lifted eyebrows.

"You didn't expect what?" she asked.

"That you'd get along with him so well", Erchirion said.

"Well, I do. Is there something wrong with that?" Lothíriel asked, her voice turning defensive now.

"Of course not. I'm happy that you're doing so fine", he answered soothingly. "Let's get inside. I'd love to have some breakfast, and we still haven't had a proper talk between the two of us."

That made her shiver just slightly.

"To be honest, I'd rather have only one proper talk a day", said the princess. Her brother frowned.

"Is something wrong, sister?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'll tell everything once we've eaten... and Fainien and Amrothos have joined us. It's something all of you ought to know", Lothíriel said. Erchirion snorted.

"That might take a while, then. Our brother enjoyed a bit too much of that Rohirric ale last night. I don't think he has the stomach for it, the poor bugger", he commented. She harrumphed.

"I should have known", she grumbled, half to herself. The princess looked at her brother, "Come along, Erchirion. Let us go and see if we can rouse him from his drunken slumber."

"Gladly, sister", he said with a grin. Linking their arms, the two made their way back inside.

* * *

After breakfast and persuading Amrothos to leave his bed, the four Dol Amrothians gathered in a cosy sitting room that was a part of the Marshal's chambers. As he was something of an outdoor person, Éomer himself spent very little time there, so it was more or less Lothíriel's kingdom. When she had first come to Aldburg, the room had been easily recognisable as a room belonging to a bachelor, but ever since Lothíriel had brought there hangings and other such things to make it more homely.

One day, she had been in the middle of a redecorative fit with Scýne and Bierwén and her husband had wandered in: as soon as he had entered, this look had come to his face like he thought he had accidentally come to someone else's room. Eventually, he had told her he liked it.

"It reminds me of how it was when my parents still lived. Well, not in the looks. But the way it feels like home", he had said quietly. That had made her kiss him in a way that soon had Scýne coughing and Bierwén grinning madly.

Now, however, she was sitting with her brothers and sister-in-law, and she was about to tell them of Elric.

"Please, tell us what is bothering you. I thought everything here was all right?" Fainien said at last when they were comfortably seated.

"Nothing is wrong, Fainien. You needn't worry. I suppose it's not even that serious, not in the Rohirric standards anyway, but you should know before..." Lothíriel started, but then fell silent and hesitated.

"Know what?" asked Erchirion.

"That this little one", said the princess and rested a hand on her stomach, "isn't the first child of my husband's."

All three of her guests looked at her with surprise. They remained silent for moment, until Amrothos frowned and spoke: "What an insult! No one ever said anything about him already having children running about in Rohan!"

"It's not like that!" Lothíriel said quickly. "There's only one – his name is Elric. He was born ten years ago, when my lord husband was barely a man himself. The boy is... his mother and the Marshal were never married."

Her brothers and sister-in-law exchanged some very doubtful looks. Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation dawned to the princess: her, defending the very child she herself had wanted gone!

"That is still quite a lot to keep from the other party when a marriage is planned!" Erchirion said. His face had turned into a frown too.

"It's different here in Rohan. They don't see it the way we do. From what I gather, it probably didn't even occur to anyone that it could be a problem", Lothíriel said.

"How do you feel about it?" asked Fainien. Her expression was softer than that of her brothers, but the look in her eyes was just as keen.

"It would be a lie to say I was fine with it when I first heard", Lothíriel allowed at length. "But there is nothing to be done about it, and... Elric is just a boy. He has little other family besides his father and grandmother, who live here in Aldburg. And being a child born out of wedlock, it's not like he shares the status of what children my lord husband may give to me."

"I don't think you _should _be fine with it", said Amrothos hotly. "You know what Father will say once he hears. And in Gondor, people won't be so understanding if they hear of this boy."

"Oh, I know what Father will say", Lothíriel answered, grimacing as she spoke. "But what can he do about it now? Maybe I should never visit Gondor again."

"Don't be silly. That's not an option and we both know it", said Erchirion. The princess gave him a weak smile, and she shrugged.

"Then maybe I'll just set my husband loose on anyone who tries to share their opinions about Elric", she said, trying for a light tone. "You have no idea how intimidating he can be when he wants."

"You know how the Gondorian society works, sister. It's not to your face that they'll comment on it, but they'll still make their opinion known", Fainien said gently.

"Don't I know that", Lothíriel said. She shrugged and continued, "They'll comment about _something _anyway. If not about Elric, then just act all horrified that a well-bred little princess like me would go and marry a horselord of a fell people, and sweet Elbereth, what horrors must he put me through? Honestly, I don't care. And it's not likely that I'll be spending much time in Gondor now, so it doesn't even matter."

"You never change, do you?" Erchirion asked warmly, smiling at his little sister. But then his face became serious once more. "Nonetheless, Father is not going to be happy about this when I tell him. And whenever he sees your lord husband again... well, I don't think it will be too pleasant a meeting."

"He might even say that he was tricked", Fainien put in.

"Which is why I ask you to explain the situation to him. Especially that part about tricking him. Claiming something like that only shows that one doesn't know Rohirrim at all – they're an honest people, and I don't really think they'd take it well if a man like my husband was accused of cheating your father", Lothíriel said, looking at her brothers and sister-in-law gravely. "What is done is done, and I don't think it's such a good idea to start making noise and quarrel about it just because my husband happened to conceive a child ten years ago. Not to mention it would only hurt the one I'm carrying now."

"That is true", agreed her sister-in-law. She leant forward and took Lothíriel's hand in her own. "And the most important thing is that you're fine with things as they are. Your father will understand that."

"I hope he does", said the princess softly.

* * *

Dreda had wished she wouldn't have to see this place again, but here she was again, on the doorstep of Hrodgar, and she was feeling just as desperate as before.

The night had already fallen, just like the last time, and the soothsayer's hut was as dark as she remembered. Hrodgar was sat by a fireplace and smoking a pipe as he stared into dying flames. When she entered, he lifted his face and looked at her from under his bushy eyebrows.

"You again", he remarked, tapping his lower lip with the mouthpiece of his pipe. "What do you want this time?"

"The same as before. That potion you gave me last time – I need more of it", she said, already digging through her purse for silver. Oh, this was costly.

However, Hrodgar scoffed.

"_More? _The contents of that vial would have lasted for quite some time. Why would you need more?" he asked, staring at her sharply.

"I... I lost it", Dreda muttered. Truthfully, she had no idea of what had come out of the vial she had given to Elric, but one thing she did know: if the boy had figured out it was something bad, he'd have destroyed it. And even if he hadn't, she couldn't risk asking it back. Should she go and ask for it, Elric's doubts would rise and he'd go running to his father.

"How careless. I suppose you didn't need it that desperately, then", said Hrodgar nonchalantly and turned to look at the embers again.

"Well, now I need more of it", she said briskly, which had the soothsayer scoffing again.

"Come again next year", he told her. "I gave you the last of that batch."

"Then make more!" she demanded.

"I can't. This summer has been so hot and dry that I haven't been able to find some of the essential ingredients. You'll have to wait until next year... and hope for more favourable weathers", Hrodgar answered coolly. Dreda bit her lip and tried to think of something quickly, all the while damning herself for ever trusting Elric with it. She had hoped to bind him to herself, and believed the boy would think nothing of it. But of course this was something she'd have to deal with by herself.

"You have to give me something else in that case", she eventually said, which had him turning his sharp gaze at her again.

"Something else for what?" he inquired, which stunned her.

"I... I don't-" Dreda stammered. Hrodgar harrumphed and put down his pipe.

"Something for killing the Marshal's wife, correct?" he said coldly. She gasped and her blood turned into ice. He knew! What if he'd go and tell Éomer?

"How did you..." she asked, her voice barely audible.

"_I know. _That is my job, Dreda. Do you think I'd ever do business if I didn't know what my customers wanted?" asked the soothsayer.

"I beg of you, don't tell him – I'll do anything!" she pleaded. Elric had been right: Éomer _would _be furious if he knew. He was a man of honour, after all.

"Calm down, girl. The Marshal won't hear anything from me", Hrodgar answered. He started to fill his pipe again, and he continued, "That is not my way. I keep the secrets."

"Please. You're the only one who can help me", Dreda tried one last time. "You helped me once, even if you knew what I meant to do."

"That was when I thought you could handle yourself and your little scheme. But if this is how you deal with things, losing precious potions like that, then I wish no part in it. I'm not going to get myself driven out of this town with torches and pitchforks just because of _you. _If you wish to kill the princess, then that is your business. I will not bear the blame for the murder of the Marshal's wife_", _said the soothsayer mercilessly. He cast another sharp look at her, and muttered, "His stars are powerful. Maybe they even shine for her too. I won't go against them, not for you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" she asked in resignation.

"I don't know. If help is what you need, this is where you are not going to find it", Hrodgar said with a sense of finality. "Now go away. I have work to do."

Fighting back her tears, Dreda left Hrodgar's hut.

* * *

Like always, it was amusing to watch Lothíriel and Amrothos together. As he wasn't so much older than her, they had always been close to each other... and when they had been children, they had often gotten themselves into all kinds of trouble.

At the moment, two of them were sat on the bench beside the doors leading into the Hall. They were deep in an animated conversation, which often had them grinning and laughing. It was a good thing to see them both in such high spirits, as Erchirion could tell she had missed Amrothos just as much as he had missed Lothíriel.

Fainien came to his side then, and quietly the two of them watched the two siblings before she spoke: "I think she'll be all right."

"Yes. She does seem to be faring far better than before. I didn't think she could get so comfortable with living in this place... but maybe it will turn out everything that was hoped, and more", he commented.

"I was worried for how we'd find her here... but I suppose we can leave with a light heart now", said Fainien quietly. She glanced at her husband, "What do you think your father will say of the news?"

"To speak truthfully, I'm not so sure. On one hand, I'd think he'll be angry. But on the other hand, perhaps he'll try and understand it? It's not like this can be changed now. I don't think Uncle Denethor would allow it either. And the baby..." Erchirion said at length, "A baby does complicate things."

"It makes the Marshal one of us, more than any ceremony", Fainien mused.

"Indeed. And the thing is... I believe our Lothíriel might be falling in love with a horselord", Erchirion said.

"You think that?" asked his wife, lifting her eyebrows.

"We've yet to see them interact properly, but what we saw on the day of our arrival, and the way she looked at him... it makes a convincing show", he answered.

"Who would have thought? Perhaps this thing is not so bad after all", she mused. "I just hope it can last."

"I suppose that is a reasonable concern, seeing what kind of times we are now living... then again, perhaps strife can bind people to each other in a way times of peace don't", Erchirion said. They continued their stroll, silent for a while. Then he took note of the expression on his wife's face, and he followed her eyes. Fainien was looking at the young golden-haired boy who was in the middle of helping a blacksmith shoe a horse.

The Marshal's son had returned to Aldburg yesterday, and the Dol Amrothians had happened to be outside when the boy had arrived along with young riders in training. The moment he had seen the boy, Erchirion had known he was the child Lothíriel had spoken of. The resemblance between this Elric and the Marshal was indeed striking. He wondered how his sister handled it, for he was not completely convinced she was quite so fine with the existence of this boy as she had said.

At the sight of him, he and Amrothos had instantly shared a doubtful glance as if hoping that the other would know how to react, and Fainien had seemed similarly unsure. Lothíriel herself had been glancing from her brothers to Fainien; she had not been able to hide her worry. The boy had noticed them as well and Erchirion had seen the curiosity on his forthcoming face. But he had not dared to approach them – he had just watched from afar.

But it was as Lothíriel had said: the Rohirrim did not seem to pay much attention to the conditions if this boy's origins. He participated the daily comings and goings of Aldburg just like anyone else, and it even seemed he was moderately well-liked by others. Erchirion couldn't really see something like that happening in Gondor... but perhaps it was wrong to try and think of this the Gondorian way.

His thoughts were disrupted then as Amrothos and Lothíriel approached him and Fainien.

"We were thinking that maybe we could go and take a look at the markets. Would you like to come along?" asked the princess, smiling at her brother and sister-in-law.

"That sounds good. Of course we'd like to come with you", said Fainien. Indeed, it sounded like a good idea, to go and see a bit of the ordinary Rohirric life. To himself, Erchirion thought perhaps they could find some gifts for the family members who remained in Dol Amroth. Elphir and Father at least might appreciate being provided with Rohirric saddles and reins, as those were said to be the best ones you could find in the kingdoms of men.

It was quite lively at the markets. The atmosphere wasn't too different from the Gondorian sort, and really if you've seen one market, you've more or less seen them all. It was entertaining enough, however. Observing people as they went about their business, argued and bargained and bought goods, was something he enjoyed anyway. Especially fun was watching his siblings and his wife as they explored the stands and chatted with each other. When they were together like that, it made Erchirion almost feel like they were still the carefree children back in the city of Dol Amroth.

Lothíriel bought some sweet berry cakes for them, and they were in the middle of eating those when the man suddenly appeared, as if a ghost from nowhere. Given his appearance, it was startling that Erchirion never saw him coming. Dressed all in furs he did stand out, and his sharp features had this specific look that one did not easily forget.

Before her brothers could react, the strange man had already stepped in to the front of Lothíriel. Erchirion could see her eyes widening with surprise and uncertainty, and hear her gasp when the stranger touched her belly.

He said only one word: "Beware."

Apparently the princess or her brothers were not the only ones who were stunned by this sudden approach, but then the two Rohirric guards who had come along as escorts to the wife of the Marshal pushed forward. One of them pulled Lothíriel from the strange man while the other stepped in between and grasped his sword. He spoke in quick, sharp Rohirric, and the fur-clad man took a step back. He raised his hands to console the guards. It looked a bit like there was a smile on his face, and then he turned around and ventured back into the crowd, from where he had come.

"What was that? Who was that man?" Amrothos asked, staring after the stranger. His brow was knitted and Erchirion noticed that he too was grasping the hilt of his own sword. Lothíriel looked quizzically at one of her guards.

"That was just Hrodgar, my lords. He was warning the Lady", said the taller of the two, the one who had threatened the man.

"Warning her about what?" Fainien asked.

"I don't know. He is a strange man, but essentially harmless", answered the guard.

"It was probably nothing. Maybe he has been too deep into his cups", Lothíriel said, casting a look at her brothers and sister-in-law. "I suggest we get back to the Hall. I promised to sit with Lady Eadmod this afternoon. And perhaps Captain Éothain would now have some time for that sparring session you were hoping for, Amrothos."

The other three agreed to get back to the Hall, and though she was trying to keep up a brave face, Erchirion did see the way she frowned and rested a hand on the bump of her belly.

* * *

After four days of riding back and forth in the western lands, the riders of Prince Théodred and Marshal Éomer finally found the Dunlendings who had been raiding the farms. As it was time of harvest and the autumn was coming, it was crucial to take down the raiders before they could cause more havoc than they already had.

Théodred and Éomer had ridden together in many battles, and their alliance had always proved to be a fruitful one. It was like this time too. The band of Dunlendings was killed and many of them were captured, and their leader brought to be questioned by the Marshal.

The sight Éomer observed from his seat on a rock was something to disconcert tender hearts, but was all too familiar to him: corpses of fallen riders and Dunlendings scattered on the hillside where the battle had taken place, and his men in the middle of trying to find survivors or overseeing the task of disarming the Dunlending warriors. Théodred and his men were chasing the scattered remnants of the band, but Éomer expected that would not take his cousin too long.

The man they brought to the front of him could not be too much older than the Marshal himself. He probably had some Rohirric blood, given his height, but he had the dark looks of his people. His expression was cold, even hateful. But Éomer could also see this was a proud man... and probably well-respected among his folk, if anything could be judged by the way he had lead his men and fought against the Marshal's riders. They had said his name was Áed and he was considered a great chieftain among his people.

After regarding the man for a moment, Éomer spoke: "I suppose it is needless to ask why you were raiding our farms and fields."

Áed spat to the ground, and hatred sparkled in his dark eyes.

"Why have our people ever raided these lands that are rightfully ours?" he asked. That made Éomer want to grimace, as he very well knew how _that _argument could ever end. For the thing was, _it didn't. _

"If that was so, you would be sitting on the throne in Edoras, not Théoden King", said the Marshal calmly. "You know the repercussions for attacking innocent farmers. If there is anything you wish to say, you should say it now."

"We were hungry", said the Dunlending man, his bearded face twisting with frustrated anger. "And my wife was dying."

At that, Éomer could not help but feel a pang of sympathy. Instantly he thought of his own wife... he imagined her heavily pregnant and on the verge of dying, and it was something to make his heart tremble. On some level, he could understand this man's desperation. But could he murder innocents to feed his own family?

"Then you should have asked for our help – send a word for Théoden King", he answered nonetheless. Áed spat again at his words.

"What help has ever come from the straw-heads? Cold steel and spears you have given us. And I hear Théoden King grows ever sparser in sharing his aid", he growled and anger blazed in his eyes.

"If we have given you steel, it is because of the murder and fire you gave us first", Éomer answered calmly, though he couldn't really deny that of late his uncle had not been any great helper of the people in need. _But that's not him. It's because of Wormtongue. _

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and continued: "And in any case nothing justifies attacking and viciously slaughtering those who can't defend themselves. You know the consequences for that."

Éomer gestured at the Dunlending warrior and couple of his men came to take him away. When they escorted him away, Áed throw a cold, hateful look over his shoulder at the Marshal.

"I hope that one day you'll feel just as desperate as I did. Then you'll see, horselord", he said loudly, and then he was taken away.

* * *

On an afternoon of mid-September Erchirion, Amrothos and Fainien finally saw the city of Dol Amroth by the sea.

They had left Aldburg after two weeks on a bright autumn morning. It would have been nice to stay longer, but none of them had wanted to travel in the autumn storms that would start in few weeks. So they had bid farewell to the Lord and Lady of Aldburg and started the long journey back to Dol Amroth.

It had not been easy to say goodbye to their sister, but Erchirion had still done that with a lighter heart than the last time. When she had left Minas Tirith after the wedding, he had seen the deeply upset look in her eyes, though she had tried to mask it. But when her brothers and sister-in-law departed for home after their visit in her new home town, she had been standing side by side her husband, and he had rested an arm on her waist. Looking at them, Erchirion had known she'd be all right. Whatever happened, the Marshal would look after her.

And so the prince, his wife, and his brother had left the town behind, and finally they had come back to the city of the Princes.

They had taken the usual route by Anduin and landed in the harbour, and so a messenger was sent up to the palace before them. So, by the time the three travellers got to the fortress that belonged to the Princes of Dol Amroth, the rest of the family was already waiting for them. Father was there of course, as were Elphir and Aredhel. At the sight of Erchirion and others, Father smiled.

"Welcome home. It is good to have you back!" he said as he hugged his secondborn son, and then Amrothos and Fainien. Though Father never said anything, Erchirion could very well see how hard it still was that Lothíriel was gone now and living in another country. And it made him ever more desperate to have the rest of his family around him, as if they'd leave too.

It was no wonder to Erchirion why that was. Lothíriel had been Imrahil's only daughter and an image of his beloved wife.

"And we're glad to be home. It's been quite a journey", Erchirion said, resting a hand on the shoulder of his father.

"Oh, no doubt of it. You must tell us all!" Aredhel said, smiling wide at her brother-in-law. "How fares our sister? Has she settled well in Rohan?"

Erchirion shared a glance with Fainien and Amrothos, and then looked at Aredhel again. "I'm sure my wife and my brother will tell you all of it. I think I should speak with Father first."

Father lifted his eyebrows and a look of concern came to his eyes. They made their way back inside, and Erchirion lowered his voice for privacy.

"It's all right, Father. There's nothing wrong with Lothíriel. There's just some things we ought to discuss about, and I think perhaps you would like to hear everything right away."

"Of course", said the Prince. On the way up to his study, Erchirion told him about the journey to Aldburg, trying to decide how to best explain the circumstances in the Marshal's town.

Once they were comfortably seated in Prince Imrahil's study, he looked at his son inquisitively.

"Now, tell me: how is Lothíriel faring in Aldburg? Is she well?" Imrahil asked. "Is she... is she happy?"

Erchirion gave his father a consoling smile.

"I think she is. Happier than I expected she would be. I could be wrong, but I think the Marshal likes her very much", he said. That brought a look of relief to his father's face.

"Son, I can't tell how happy I am to hear that. I've spent so much time worrying and wondering about what fate I sent her into when I agreed to give her hand in marriage to Lord Éomer", Imrahil said softly. "How does he treat her? And does she like him as well?"

"It seems to me that he is an adequate husband. He appears to respect her at least. And Lothíriel... I think she likes him too", Erchirion answered. However, as he continued speaking, he couldn't help but frown, "and it surprises me, to be honest. I wouldn't have expected that, given the situation..."

"What situation?" Father asked. He was frowning now too.

"That Lord Éomer already has a son. An illegitimate child, born out of wedlock ten years ago", said Erchirion quietly.

The Prince looked just as angry as he had expected. He practically leapt up from his chair, pacing about the study and squeezing his hands into fists.

"How dare they! How dare they treat my daughter like this!" he exclaimed furiously. "I knew this was wrong! I knew I shouldn't have let that marriage happen!"

"Father-" Erchirion tried to put in, but the Prince was too busy ranting to stop and listen.

"I must travel to Minas Tirith at once, and talk with Lord Denethor. We'll get her back, even if we have to do it by arms!" he raved and stormed over to his desk, apparently to write something.

"Please Father, listen-" tried his son again, but still to no avail.

"I can't believe that they'd insult us like this! And I took that Marshal for a man of honour!" Imrahil continued his angry tirade.

"Father, Lothíriel is with child", Erchirion said loudly, which finally made his father fall silent. The Prince straightened, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"What did you say, son?" Imrahil asked in a weak voice.

"You heard me. She is carrying the Marshal's child", said the prince softly. His father fell back on his seat, looking like he had no idea of what to say or think.

"Already?" he finally asked.

"Yes", Erchirion confirmed. "I... it seems to me that we have to let this thing go as it will. There is no future here for Lothíriel now... not when she's bearing a child with royal blood of Rohan. She belongs with them now, and we can't have her back."

Father's eyes fell on his hands and for a long while he sat silent. Then he sighed and looked at Erchirion again.

"I see", he said quietly. "Tell me, what does she think of it?"

"I'm not sure Lothíriel is completely fine with it. But she didn't seem angry either. She told me that it's their land, and it's their way of life. I suppose she's trying to adjust... become one of them. It would be ill of us to try and interfere with that."

"Hmm. That is... you're probably right, though I am not happy to admit that", said Imrahil at length. "And I am not glad to hear the news of this Marshal's son. Did you see the boy during your visit?"

"We did. He is a member of his father's household. I did not speak to him but he appears to be as any other youth of Rohan, and the people hardly even pay attention to him or his parentage. Lothíriel said Rohirrim do not regard that matter the same way we do", Erchirion explained.

His father rubbed his forehead wearily, thinking about the prince's words in silence. Finally, he leant back in his chair and gave Erchirion a tired look.

"I suppose I still haven't let go of her, like I should. It's just such a hard thing", he said quietly. "And still, even if she's pregnant with the Marshal's child, I must say I'm not happy with this situation. Oh, how I'd love to speak of it with the man himself!"

"Well, they did ask me to deliver the invitation. Lothíriel and her husband would like you to visit Aldburg, perhaps some time next spring after the baby has been born. There would be your chance to speak with the Marshal... and to see your grandchild", Erchirion said. His father frowned.

"If only travelling there was so easy, especially in times like these. But I must consider it", he said thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. "Lothíriel, already about to become a mother. I didn't think it would happen so soon."

"Neither did I. It was quite a surprise to us too", Erchirion agreed. "But she's not a child anymore. I'm not sure any of us has really accepted that yet."

"Yes", Imrahil said quietly and sighed to himself. "And maybe... if her husband can actually make her happy, then perhaps..."

"Then perhaps it is worth it", Erchirion concluded.

"I hope so at least", said his father, and only then did he see the tears in Imrahil's eyes.

* * *

_September 3017, Aldburg_

"Is something wrong, wife?"

The question came one rainy evening when her husband was in the middle of giving her feet a massage. And it was a good thing that he did, given how swollen and tired her poor feet were these days. Although Lothíriel did try to take time and rest, these aches still came and made her tired and grumpy. At least Éomer was trying to be considerate of her, and it was really nice when he did things like massage her feet. He was rather good at that.

"How come?" she asked, waving her toes in his hands. He continued massaging them, though he kept his eyes on her.

"You just looked so faraway. I was wondering what you were thinking", he answered.

"I was thinking about Scýne and Éothain's little one. I wonder if ours will be a boy too", she said thoughtfully. She had been there when Scýne had given birth, though in all honesty it had seemed kind of terrifying, and she was certainly not too happy to know that the same thing was in her own future.

"It would be nice – the two of them would get to grow up together. Be the kind of friends myself and Éothain have been", said the Marshal. He gave a kiss to one of her toes. "But all I really care about is that the child is strong and healthy."

"Mm. Yes", Lothíriel agreed softly. She watched her husband with half-open eyes. Most of the time, he'd wear this stern look on his face, the one that had made her feel so uncomfortable in his presence when they had first been married. But now, as he massaged her feet, he did not look stern. He looked... what was the right word for it? Yes, content. Sitting cross-legged and concentrated on caring for her poor feet, it was even kind of hard to remember how scary he could be when he wanted.

"I was thinking... if the baby is girl, perhaps we could call her Elfhild", he said after a moment of silence. "That was the name of my uncle's wife. I think he'd like that. And perhaps..."

"Perhaps what?" Lothíriel asked.

"Perhaps it might bring back the man he used to be... or at least some of him", said her husband quietly.

"You love him very much, don't you?" she said. It wasn't really a question, but a statement. He nodded.

"Aye. He was like a father to me and my sister. And he helped to make us feel like we were still wanted and loved", he said, his voice just barely audible. He was staring down at Lothíriel's feet, so that she couldn't see his eyes.

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, wondering if this was a territory too painful to speak of. He hesitated then and she thought he wasn't going to answer, and she was about to tell him he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want... but then, he started to talk again.

"It is just that we had to watch our mother die. After our father was slain, she... she was never the same after that. She became very ill, and before the year had ended, she had joined him in the grave. It is horrible, to watch your parent wither away like that... and keep asking yourself what deed of yours was so evil that she'd rather die than fight and live for you and your little sister", Éomer said heavily, and his hands became fists. Though fifteen years had passed ever since the death of Marshal Éomund and his wife Théodwyn, Lothíriel could see that some of the pain of their loss still lingered. Éomer continued, "And even if I could understand it on some level, Éowyn couldn't. She was just seven summers old. How do you explain something like that to your little sister when you can barely comprehend it yourself?"

"I am so sorry", Lothíriel said, her voice coming out choked. She had known that her husband's parents had died within a year from each other, but never had she understood it was something so painful. Clumsily she sat up and moved over so that she could hug her husband, and with a sigh he lay his forehead against her shoulder.

"Wife, it is all right", he murmured at last. "There is no changing what happened. It was a tragedy, yes... but we have moved on. It's the kind of thing you have to make your peace with eventually, lest it destroy you."

"Still. I at least don't know how I'd have dealt with something like that", Lothíriel said softly, running her fingers through Éomer's hair.

"One deals with it... when there's no other choice", he answered and pulled her closer to himself.

She was about to say something to that, but a curious sensation robbed the princess of her voice. There was a fluttering feeling inside her, the kind she had been feeling every now and then lately. A gentle kind of swishing... and finally, she understood what it was.

Apparently her expression had become strange, for her husband pulled back and looked at her in concern.

"What is it, wife?" he asked.

"It's no matter. I'm fine. I think the baby just moved", Lothíriel answered, her voice coming out as a weak little breath. His eyes widened at that, and ever so gently, he placed a hand on her belly. The fluttering feeling came again and she hiccupped at the strange sensation.

"Are you all right?" Éomer asked softly.

"I... I don't know", she answered, hating how helpless she sounded. "I'm scared."

Carefully, he gathered her in his arms and held her there, as if he could somehow shelter her from all the feelings of uncertainty and fear.

"You're not alone in this", he whispered into her hair. "If there is anything that I can do..."

"Yes", she mumbled quietly, closing her eyes.

"We'll be fine. I promise. I'll take care of you... both of you", said her husband, and the comforting tones of his quiet voice finally helped her to relax.

Maybe, if he kept his promise, she could do this.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update! I know the pace is not the fastest one right now, but I can assure you, I'm just getting warmed up. These relationships need development for later events anyway.

I must say, writing this chapter was really weird, because now I don't have _Heart's Desire _work in progress at the side. I know I really shouldn't do that, considering my timetables, but I'm really tempted to start working on this idea that has been developing in my mind lately. Honestly, I don't even know where all this stuff comes from. I don't think I've ever experienced such a creative spree as this spring has been!

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Éomer's wife was standing with her back towards the doors of Marshal's Hall, evidently observing the bustle in the courtyard. The Marshal and his men were about to leave on yet another patrol – something which they were doing increasingly often these days. Apparently Éomer was hoping that frequent rides in the eastern parts would help to keep marauding orcs at bay. From there, his company would ride for Edoras, as the Marshal had some business with the King.

As everyone was so busy with their preparations and it was such an early morning that other household members weren't yet around in the middle of their own chores, Dreda deemed her moment had come. Indeed, not far from the princess was Wíglic's horse... a magnificent beast, but nervous and hostile towards anyone who wasn't his master. If the stallion thought you were attacking him, he would certainly pay back in full, like a proper warhorse was wont to. Push someone on the front of the steed and there was no telling what he might do...

The thought was foul and evil, but Dreda hardened her heart. If that was the price to be paid, then she would do it. Who knew when she'd again have the chance, what with the way the princess was always surrounded by people? The reward was more than worth it.

She moved forward and lifted her hand, ready to push the princess into the front of the stallion. Her heart beat fast with excitement... but that feeling was somehow mixed with vague terror for knowing what she was ready to do for herself and the Marshal.

There was only one and a half feet between her and the princess when suddenly, she heard running steps from behind her, and then she was knocked over. Dreda fell down with a yell of surprise and the princess turned around to see what the noise was about. The chance was lost.

"I'm so sorry, it was an accident – are you hurt?" came Elric's voice as the boy rolled away. He had been the one to run right into Dreda and effectively tackle her... and looking at his face, the one that was always so easily read, she knew he had done it on purpose.

_Of course. _The boy had seen her and known she had meant to do something bad... evidently he was also going to keep the word he had given her in the stables.

"I am fine", Dreda snapped and stumbled on her feet. The princess was studying them with those steely eyes of hers, and she crossed her arms on her chest... no doubt silently laughing to herself for their clumsiness.

"I'm terribly sorry", Elric said again as he got up, shaking dust from his clothes.

"What is this racket?" asked Éomer as he arrived to the scene, dressed in his armour and ready for yet another battle.

"I was just being clumsy, Father. I ran into Dreda and knocked her over", Elric told his father, who chuckled at that and patted the boy's shoulder.

"Try and be more careful, son. Béma, sometimes you remind me too much of myself... Now, be a good lad while I'm gone, will you?" Éomer said, at which his son beamed. The Marshal nodded at Dreda too, who had already gotten up on her feet and brushed her clothes clean. She barely answered his gesture, and she quickly turned away when he focused his attention on his darned wife. Dreda decided she really didn't have to see all of the kissing that would doubtlessly follow.

Her heart aching with pain and anger she could barely contain, Dreda returned inside. _Some other time._

* * *

The brisk, moist air of an early autumn morning touched Elric's face and chased away the last of sleep when he ventured out, yawning as he slowly made his way towards the training grounds. Master in arms Elfgar was fond of early morning training before breakfast, which was why Elric was up at this hour.

When he entered the training grounds, he at first thought he was alone. But then he spotted his father sitting on a bench by the wall, a sword on his knee and looking like he had been honing it – at least until he had gotten lost in his thoughts. Now he sat there with a faraway expression on his face while he absent-mindedly scratched his beard.

"Good morning, Father", Elric greeted his sire and went to sit by the Marshal. He was startled from his thoughts and smiled at the boy.

"Likewise, son", he answered and looked down on the sword in his lap; the same thoughtful look came back to his face almost immediately.

"Is something wrong, Father?" Elric asked.

"No, not really. I was just thinking something I spoke of with your aunt", Father said. After his patrols last week, he had briefly visited Edoras and came home only late last night. Elric had been in bed already but he had heard the noises of returning men. Father continued, "Your Aunt Éowyn tells me there's serious need for a healer in Edoras."

"Why?" asked the boy.

"Because Master Cyneric's assistant and pupil has gone to stay in Mundburg for a while, to learn from the healers who live there. My lady wife actually suggested it when she heard of young Osgar's dreams to study with the Gondorian healers... apparently she knows some healer there. She even gave him a letter he could show to that friend of hers", Father explained.

"That was nice of her", Elric commented. He was a bit jealous of Osgar, whom he remembered well from when he had still lived in Edoras. He had always dreamt of seeing the fabled White City.

"Indeed it was", said his father. "But now Master Cyneric is without an assistant and he's evidently having trouble managing all the work."

The boy nodded and thought about that for a while. He had always been a healthy boy – he didn't even remember if he had ever needed to visit a healer for his own sake. But sometimes he'd bring some herbs from Master Ferdbrego to Grandmother Eadmod, to help with her joint aches. Some of those herbs might even be what he and Dreda had picked up from the meadows...

The realisation hit him like a lightning and Elric's eyes became very wide. He almost squealed with elation and he sat up straighter. Yes! It was perfect, especially after last week... he had spent most of his free time in the vicinity of the princess, to watch and guard her in case Dreda tried something again. It had been a painful thing, for all the while he had been asking himself if he should just tell Father everything. It really was starting to look like he would have to make a choice between his father's family and Dreda, and it was making him more uneasy by the moment.

But now he thought he had come up with a solution which did not include making that impossible choice, and it made him feel so happy that he nearly bounced off his seat. Luckily, his father had not noticed anything. He had begun to hone the sword again and was fully concentrated on that.

"Father? What does a healer's assistant need to know and do?" he asked.

"I suppose they need to be able to care for wounds and other small injuries, and know about herbs... I don't think it's anything too complicated, unless one wants to become a master", Father answered, not lifting his eyes from the sword.

"And Osgar is going to come back next year, so the assistant wouldn't even have to know everything about medicines, would he?" Elric asked quickly.

"Aye. I don't think he would", Éomer answered.

"Then maybe Dreda could go to stay in Edoras until Osgar comes home? She knows a lot about herbs – we often go pick them together. And she has clever hands, everyone says so. Father, maybe she could make a good healer!" Elric said quickly. It was such a perfect idea that he wanted to laugh. If Dreda was in Edoras, then she couldn't do anything to the baby or the princess!

Father thought about that for a while, and then he turned to smile at Elric.

"That is not a bad idea at all, son. Perhaps it would even do some good to her, to be away from here for a while", he said and reached over to ruffle the boy's hair. "Thank you, Elric. I believe you have just solved two problems at once."

Elric grinned at his father's words, feeling the relief and happiness expand inside himself. The princess and the little one would be safe! He wasn't left to enjoy this joyful knowledge for long, however: Master Elfgar arrived then, along with some of the young riders. The training would soon begin for the day. So Elric grinned at his father and went to join the others, already feeling much more energetic than he usually did on early mornings.

He wasn't so sure how Dreda would react to the idea, and a part of him even expected she might be angry. What Father said to convince her to go, Elric did not know. And granted, she did not look too happy on that morning when she was set out to Edoras. But then, she rarely did look happy these days anyway. It troubled Elric, because Dreda he remembered had been so much more cheerful. Somehow, he even felt bad for scheming to get her away like he had... but then he thought maybe Father was right and going to stay in Edoras would help her. Perhaps that old, smiling Dreda would come back even, and hopefully she'd give up her poisonous plans.

So he made his way to her and hugged her like he hadn't in some time, and she let him do it, like she always had. Despite what she had tried to do, she was still his friend. And hugging her and breathing in her familiar spicy smell, Elric remembered how it had used to be back in simpler times.

"Safe journey, Dreda", he said softly. "I'm sure it'll be nice in Edoras. Maybe I can come and visit you some time."

"Of course, little bear", Dreda said quietly. "I'll be waiting for your visit."

"Don't be so sad. It could be a good thing for you. And you won't have to see the princess every day", Elric tried. What softness there had been in her eyes disappeared at the mention of Father's wife.

"How wonderful", she muttered and he regretted saying that. Maybe he should just have kept his mouth shut. Dreda sighed and gave him a look of resignation. "I need to get going, Elric. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Dreda. Béma keep you", he said, which made her mouth briefly twist. She mounted and her horse shot forwards, along with those of her escort.

Elric stood watching her go and though he knew it meant Lady Lothíriel and the little one were safe for now, there was still a heavy feeling inside him... but perhaps that feeling of foreboding was only that – just a feeling.

* * *

The man appeared from the shadows silently. In the darkness of dungeons he did not look completely unlike a ghost: dressed in black robes and his skin chalky white, he certainly made a picture of a phantom.

Áed climbed up on his feet, unsure whether he should feel threatened. Was now the hour of his punishment? But as he stared at the pale man, he noticed there were no guards to take him away.

"Who are you?" he asked sharply.

At first, the man in dark robes did not answer. He stopped just behind the bars of Áed's cell and studied the prisoner with his large, colourless eyes. There was something disconcerting about his them, but Áed met the gaze steadily.

"I am Gríma. I serve the King", said the stranger in soft voice. He rested a hand on bars and the Dunlending man took note of how long his fingers were as they moved over the wood in something like a caress.

"What do you want?" Áed demanded. Though this Gríma did not look like much of a challenge in a battle, he was still making Áed feel uncomfortable. Maybe he was a ghost.

"Simply talk, my friend", Gríma said. Something like a smile graced his face. "Now, the guards tell me that you were quite angry when you were brought here... and you wouldn't stop cursing the man who defeated you."

Áed spat at the mention of the horselord who with his riders had taken down the Dunlending band. It had been one of the worst days of his life, even when compared to the humiliation of imprisonment that had come afterwards... and what fate now awaited him.

"He's the reason I'm here now", he growled.

"Tall man, with long golden hair and stern dark eyes? And he wore a helmet with white horse tail?" Gríma asked.

"Same man", Áed muttered. That made the Rohir smile again.

"And what would you do, if he were here now and you weren't behind bars?" he asked softly.

"I'd kill him with my bare hands", snarled the Dunlending chieftain, and his words made the smile grow larger on Gríma's face.

"How wonderful", he said quietly. "You see, I do not have much love for him either... I have been weaving my webs to capture him, but I am finding it can be done in far easier ways... if you helped me, that is."

"Why would I help you?" Áed asked. Gríma lifted his eyebrows.

"Don't you wish revenge, my friend? I could give you that, you see..." he said slowly, "but only if you do exactly as I say."

"And what would that be?" asked the prisoner.

"For now, it is return to your own lands and lay low until a time comes that I tell you to strike", Gríma answered, which made Áed frown.

"What kind of revenge is that?" he asked in frustration. A look of contempt seemed to briefly vacate the pale man's face, but it was gone so soon that Áed couldn't be certain he had seen it.

"The well-planned kind. If you are going to fight with Marshal Éomer again, you will have to be prepared – especially if you hope to win. You will have to make yourself ready... like your men. You saw what the Marshal and his men are capable of", Gríma said patiently.

Áed let out a displeased sound, but he was starting to realise this could very well be his only chance of paying back the Marshal. And the strange dark-clothed man was right. The horselord and his men were not enemies to be taken lightly.

"How long do you think it will take?" he asked.

"At least a year. The table is not quite ready yet and we must be patient for a little while more", said the pale man.

"An entire year!" Áed hissed angrily. "That is too long!"

This time, the look of contempt was unmistakable on Gríma's face.

"Fine. If you can't be bothered to hold back and do as you're told, then perhaps I should let the justice run its course", he said and turned around to leave.

"Wait!" Áed said quickly. Seeing there was no other way, he relented... and if it was revenge what waited for him in the end, then maybe waiting was worth it. "Tell me what I need to do."

Gríma turned again to look at him, and a slow and just slightly terrifying smile came to his pale face.

"I knew you would be smart about this, my friend", he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Now, listen carefully..."

* * *

The year turned into an autumn and the storms came, and soon afterwards it was winter. It was a colder season than what Lothíriel was used to, having lived by the sea all her life. There was a bite to the wind now, and nights could be so cold. But in Marshal's Hall, it was warm and cosy, and many a night she spent by a fireplace with Scýne nursing her son and Bierwén busy with needlework while Eadmod told them stories of yore... or safely nestled in the arms of her husband, which she was starting to think the most secure place in all the world.

As the year grew older, the child under Lothíriel's heart grew too. It made her increasingly slow and clumsy, and more tired too. Furthermore, there were all these little things, like back pain and swollen feet and sometimes the baby would kick and move so restlessly that she could barely sleep at nights.

Sometimes, she wondered: how would the baby look like? Would the child take more after its father or mother? Moreover, what kind of person would this child grow to be? And what parents would the two of them even make? Lothíriel didn't even have any idea of how did one become a good mother. It was likely that much of parental duties and educating the child would fall on her, as her husband would probably be busy with his duties as a Marshal. It was a scary thought... but he had promised he'd take care of them. How could he do that if he was far away waging war?

Grandmother Eadmod was comforting at least. When Lothíriel told her about her concerns, Eadmod smiled gently and reached for her hand, which she offered to the blind woman.

"Don't worry, my dear. Caring for a child is not that difficult, and it is not like you will be alone in this at all. Women have given birth to children and survived since the dawn of ages. Just follow your instinct... and when that is not enough to guide you, it's not wrong to ask for advice. Which should be plentiful, considering that the Rohirrim love children and caring for them", Eadmod said, squeezing Lothíriel's fingers inside her own.

"Of course", said the princess softly.

"Is something else troubling you, sweetheart?" asked the old woman. Her skills of observation were keen as ever despite her blindness.

"I was just... I've been thinking. When my brothers and sister-in-law were visiting Aldburg, this man approached me. He touched me and said just one word: _Beware. _It bothers me, even though I don't know why he said that. He made it sound like I'm in some kind of danger", Lothíriel said quietly, fidgeting her hands.

"Who was this man?" Eadmod asked.

"They said his name is Hrodgar. Your grandson didn't seem to like him too much... he said some think this man a witch", Lothíriel answered.

"That is indeed what they say of him, and I can never tell if it is true or not", said the old lady of Aldburg at length as she settled back on her seat. "Probably not, however. Some say he is simply a helper of those in need. He is a shady man, yes... but he has never caused any harm that I know of. If he did, Éomer would deal with him accordingly."

"What do you think he might have meant?" asked the princess.

"To be honest, I don't know. People like him... it's never easy to tell what they truly mean", Eadmod said. She gave the young woman a calming smile, "I'm sure it is nothing to be worried of, my dear. Just take care of yourself, remember to have plenty of rest, and all will be fine."

"I hope so", Lothíriel said softly. Then she thought of something – a matter that had kept her thinking a lot lately. So she asked hesitantly: "Grandmother Eadmod?"

"Yes, Lothíriel?" said the old woman.

"Does it ever get better? I mean... watching him go? Knowing that he might not return alive?" Lothíriel asked, her voice not much more than a whisper.

"Oh, sweetheart!" Eadmod sighed and again she reached for the younger woman's hand. "I suppose it never really does... if it did, it would mean you don't care for him anymore. But in time, you learn to accept that there are some things in this world you can change, and others that you can't. And you just have to live with them, difficult as it is. Yet as there is hardship, there are beautiful things as well, and they are worth living for."

She sighed then and held Lothíriel's hand a bit tighter. She continued, "I tried to tell that to Théodwyn also... but you know what happened to her. Don't despair, though. I sense strength in you and hardiness. I don't think your fate is the same as hers."

"What was she like? If I may ask?" Lothíriel inquired softly.

"Théodwyn was kind and gentle. Very sensitive... and frail. She was not very strong in body. Yet she had children like your husband and dear Éowyn, both of whom appear to have been made of steel. But I don't think either of them inherited her laughter. She loved laughing and the halls of this house were full of it when she lived", Eadmod spoke quietly, her voice turning nostalgic and even sad.

"She sounds like a wonderful woman", said the princess.

"That she was. She was well-loved, but none so much than by her husband, my dear Éomund", said the old lady. A teary little smile came to her face, "Éomer looks a lot like him, though my grandson is taller than my son was. It's a pity that Éomund never got to see his own son become a warrior as fine as he were. He'd be so proud."

Eadmod wiped tears from her milky eyes and smiled again at Lothíriel. "I feel a bit tired. Would you be a dear and call a servant to help me to bed?"

"I can help you, Grandmother", offered the younger woman.

"Oh, you don't have to. You should not wear yourself down now. You have to be careful with the little one", Eadmod said, waving her hand at the princess.

"Of course", Lothíriel said quietly, kissed the old lady's forehead, and went off to call for a servant.

* * *

_December 3017, Aldburg_

Lothíriel had never seen snow before. Down in the city of Dol Amroth, it never got cold enough for that: what storms they had during winter were rain and wind. She had read of snow in stories of course... but the reality was so much more than the descriptions in any books. The first snow had come two weeks ago already, but that had been during the night. Watching the falling snow was just as exciting as waking up to the white brightness outside.

It was an early morning of Yule and she was standing by the window, staring out and watching the snow fall and add to the white cover that already rested over the plains. It was somehow ethereal and beautiful and she'd rather have liked to go and take a closer look, but given the state of her pregnancy, she wasn't even sure she'd have been able to make it down to the plains. She was clumsier than ever and walking too long made her lose her breath, to the point where she had to sit down and just concentrate on breathing.

"You really are taken with snow, aren't you?" commented her husband from the bed; snow wasn't so exciting to him, so he had chosen not to get up quite yet.

"You would be too, if you had lived your entire life in a city where it never snows", Lothíriel commented nonchalantly, watching the floating dance of snowflakes. "Will it stay for long?"

"Depends on weather", Éomer answered and stretched.

"I hope it will. It looks so beautiful", said the princess hopefully.

"Snow means cold, and cold usually results in unpleasant things. The last time the snow remained through all the winter, a man of Dunland sat in Meduseld as King and our people suffered greatly from war and famine", said her husband quietly, which had her shivering.

"That is horrible", she said and wrapped her shawl tighter about her shoulders.

"Aye. But it is past, and the hardiness of the Rohirrim proved yet again the winner of that struggle. Worry not, _déor min. _Things are different now than they were then", Éomer answered.

"Of course", Lothíriel said quickly, deciding a change of topic was needed. She looked over shoulder at him, and stated, "Last Yule, I wouldn't have thought I'd be spending the next one here of all places. It's hard to believe it's been over half a year already."

"Mm. Quite so", he agreed and sat up on the bed. "Éowyn would have loved it if we had joined her for the celebrations in Edoras."

"I hope she's not too disappointed", Lothíriel commented.

"Oh, she knows perfectly well why we had to pass it this time", said her husband.

"Maybe we can go there next year. I really don't want travel with this little thing", said the princess and briefly rested a hand on her stomach. She cast a look at her husband, "Do you think we could some time even travel to Dol Amroth for Yule?"

He thought of it for a moment, but then shook his head.

"I fear it is not possible, wife. The journey there is so long. My duties here in Aldburg... and there's never knowing when my éored might be needed in battle", Éomer said at length. "If the times were different, I'd love to travel with you there."

"Oh. I see", Lothíriel said quietly, trying to mask her disappointment. He noticed it anyway and got up on his feet, and came to stand beside her. He gave a kiss to her temple.

"Maybe in a few years or so", he said softly and briefly embraced her shoulders. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"The little one was a bit restless, but I did manage to catch some rest", she answered. She made a face at him, "I'm starting to forget what it was like not to be pregnant."

"It's not too long now, wife", he reassured her.

"Well, it's easy for you to say that! You got to be there only for the fun part!" she grumbled and wobbled over to find some clothes. And if it was true what Bierwén said, the true work would only begin when the child would be born. Oh, how on earth was she supposed to be a good mother? Certainly she'd be a horrible parent and ruin their child.

Knowing better than to argue with her about this, he sighed and let the matter be. He went to dress as well, and for the moment silence was only broken by sounds of them getting dressed.

As she readied herself for the day, Lothíriel marvelled again at the fact that it really had been over six months since she had married Éomer and come to live in Aldburg with him. Where had all that time gone? She remembered her fear and anxiety on those weeks before the wedding... how she had been so convinced that she'd never adjust into her new life her or be even remotely content. She had thought this life would be a nightmare, and the man she had married would care little for her.

Instead, she found it was really not so bad, living in Aldburg. The days went by fast, filled with work as she supervised the household's comings and goings. There was laughter too, shared with Eadmod and Bierwén and Scýne and Ceola. And the man she had married was turning out to be a considerate husband: she had even learnt to talk with him and frankly she enjoyed his closeness at nights. And now she was pregnant with his child. Lothíriel couldn't tell when it had happened, but she had become a part of his world and she wasn't unhappy.

"What are you thinking of so intently, wife?" Éomer asked then. He had already dressed and was watching her curiously.

"Nothing important. Just life", she answered and gave him a small smile. He answered that and offered her his hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I am", she said, and side by side they made their way outside, ready to face their first Yule together.

* * *

The day of celebrations had been long and exhaustive, to the point where Lothíriel had decided to retire for a nap before the night's feast. She felt better by then and even donned on one of her better gowns with the help of Ceola her maid. The girl also exercised her rather impressive skills of braiding on Lothíriel's hair. As a result, she even felt kind of pretty, despite her heavily pregnant and clumsy state.

The feast was quite a festive occasion as well. Food and drink was served, and laughter and easy chatter filled the hall. Lothíriel was sat beside her husband, observing the progression of the evening. Apparently it was small compared to the celebrations in Edoras, where the nobility of the land would gather for a great feast for three days. Still, she knew how much preparation had come into all of this: as the lady of the house, she ought to know things like that. If that was small when compared to Meduseld... she felt intimidated at the thought.

As the evening went on and the atmosphere became even merrier, Lothíriel herself started to feel a bit uncomfortable. She often did, if she sat too long in one position. And it was rather warm in the hall and she had eaten a bit too much, so perhaps a short stroll might help.

So she reached to touch the arm of her husband, who was deep in conversation with Master Oferlof. At her touch, he turned to look at her.

"What is it, lady wife?" he asked.

"I just thought I'd go and walk for a bit", she said and gave him a small smile. As that was not a novel thing and she was often taking short walks these days, he knew not to worry. Instead, Éomer kissed the top of her head and told her to go ahead.

After exiting the table, Lothíriel walked along the wall, observing the festive faces of her husband's household as they drank and laughed together. It was so warm in the hall... suddenly, she longed for fresh air. The princess concentrated on the double doors at the other end of the great hall and yearning began to fill her as she thought of the cool night breeze. But with each step she took she felt more dizzy: her head swam and breathing was getting more difficult.

She took support from wall, trying to catch her breath... she thought of shouting for Éomer before she fell when unexpectedly there was a skinny but surprisingly strong arm wrapping under her shoulders.

"My lady? Are you ill?" asked the voice of a boy. _Elric. _

"Just get me outside. I need air", she barely managed.

He complied without hesitation and helped her outside. Once there, he half-escorted, half-carried her to a bench near the door and helped her to sit down. As soon as Lothíriel felt the cool night air filling her lungs, she started to feel better and the dizziness began to subside.

"Is something wrong? Is it the baby?" Elric asked anxiously, practically hovering over her. She closed her eyes and leant back her head against the wall.

"I'm better now. I just needed a bit of fresh air, is all", Lothíriel answered, trying for a calming tone. "The baby is fine. Thank you, Elric."

"Should I go and call for Father?" asked the boy. He sounded as concerned as ever.

"No, no. He'd only make a fuss of it", said the princess. She rested a hand on her belly, feeling the baby move about in a way that hopefully meant nothing was wrong.

"For a moment I thought... my lady, it would be most horrible if anything happened to you", Elric said softly. At that, Lothíriel opened her eyes to see the honest look on the boy's face. Despite her cool manners and sheer indifference towards him, he still thought so protectively of her.

He was a good boy, she could see that much. Perhaps she was being petty for pushing him away. It wasn't his fault that he had been born, after all. And neither she or the boy was going to go away: their lives were here, tied together by a knot that was Éomer. None of it would change, not as long as they lived. She would always be Éomer's wife and Elric would always be his son.

Maybe it wouldn't be so wrong to just let it be. And it was probably even for the better if she did. Should she continue treating this boy like she had so far, it could only ever result in turning his good will into hatred. And who knew what would follow then?

"Elric, I..." she began, but somehow, finding the right words wasn't so easy. He crouched on the front of her and a quizzical look came to his face.

"What is it, my lady?" he asked.

"I haven't been too polite towards you so far, and I apologise for it. My manners have been more befitting of an orc than a princess. I shouldn't have treated you so coldly", she said slowly. A large smile spread on Elric's face, and there was such light in his eyes, as if she had just told him the best thing he had ever heard.

"It's no matter, my lady! You needn't apologise. I understand your position", he said quickly. Who'd have thought it would be easy? Anyone else, she thought, would have made her feel such heavy regret for her conduct. But Elric didn't mind at all.

Éomer had been right when he had said his son was a good lad.

"Thank you", she said quietly, at which he smiled happily. He offered her his hand.

"Please, my lady. Let me help you back inside, before you catch cold. You know what Father will say to that", he said. She gave him a weak smile.

"He'd climb on walls", she agreed, which made Elric laugh. Then, while he was still grinning at her words, Lothíriel let her husband's son escort her back inside.

Curiously enough, letting go made her feel so much lighter than she had before.

* * *

_January__ 3018, Aldburg_

"How are you feeling today, sweetheart?" Eadmod asked after her grandson's wife had settled down in the chair opposite hers on a day of late January.

"Fine, if a bit tired. And huge. I swear, if this thing grows any larger, I don't think I'll be able to move about anymore", said the princess with a note of discomfort in her voice.

"I'd tell you about patience if I did not know myself how frustrating that talk is", Eadmod said, smiling gently at Lothíriel. Sometimes, it annoyed her so much that she couldn't see anymore. She'd have loved to see Éomer's wife... and his child, once the baby was born.

"Well, I hope the little one doesn't come out before my lord husband comes back home", Lothíriel said softly. The troubled tone was not lost to the old woman. Éomer had not meant to ride out, not now when his wife's childbirth was growing nigh... but the duty of a Marshal did not as if the time and place was convenient. Orcs had been attacking settlements in the east and Éomer's men were sorely needed, especially since the coldness of winter still persisted. He had no choice but to go. After he had ridden to do his duty, Lothíriel had wobbled into Eadmod's room and sat with her head against the old woman's chest, and Eadmod had felt the shivers pass through the princess as she had fought her tears.

"It is such a blessing, my dear", Eadmod said softly in an attempt to distract Lothíriel from her concerns. "I did not think I would get to live so long as to see another grandchild of my dear Éomund."

The princess took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I hope I can be worthy", said the dear girl softly.

"Don't be silly, my dear! You're more than worthy – we are all proud to have you here. You have adjusted here so well, it makes me truly happy", Eadmod told her. "Truly, no matter how the two of you started, I do feel it was a blessed day when you and my grandson were wed."

After a short moment of silence, she continued, "And I am glad for how we all are becoming a family."

With that, she was of course referring to how Lothíriel was these days allowing Elric to participate dinner with her and Éomer. Like Éomund and Théodwyn in their time, the Lord and Lady of Aldburg would share supper in the privacy of their own chambers every now and then... and unlike before, Elric sometimes attended too. Eadmod knew it was a big step for the princess, and she was very proud of the young woman. And even more so, she was happy for Elric. All that boy had ever wanted was a family, and perhaps that was now starting to become true.

"Yes", Lothíriel said, pensively now. "It's more than I ever expected to find here. Well, not much of it even turned the way I would have thought..."

"How so, my dear?" asked Eadmod.

"Between the two of us, I didn't think your grandson would be the man he is. I thought was going to marry some inconsiderate brute who... who would treat me badly. I didn't expect that he'd have a son... and I certainly didn't thought I'd ever find any friends here or be accepted", said the princess softly.

"Sweetheart", said the blind woman, patting Lohtíriel's knee clumsily. "I am glad that it did not turn out like that. Nevertheless, I did not know you were so troubled to come here. Granted, I expected that you would be nervous, but did not realise the extent of it."

"It's fine. Like I said, things didn't turn out like I expected. And I'm glad for it", she said, and Eadmod thought she could even hear a smile in the young woman's voice. Then she asked: "Grandmother?"

"What is it, Lothíriel?" asked the old lady back.

"Do you think he could ever-" she started, but suddenly she fell silent.

"My dear?" Eadmod asked, wishing she might see what had made the princess lose her voice like that. But Lothíriel didn't answer, and Eadmod inquired again: "What is it?"

There was a sound of stumbling, like someone had just fallen down. That immediately awakened Eadmod's concern and she tried to reach for the princess, but her hand only found air.

"Lothíriel?" she called for her grandson's wife.

"I-I think it's the baby", Lothíriel said weakly.

"It's all right, I'll just get up and call help, just stay there-" Eadmod said as gently as she could, to help the girl stay calm.

But calm was not to be had, for the princess gasped loudly... and seconds later, her scream filled the air.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you appreciate the things I go through for you. Like staying up late in the middle of a manic writing spree. _It is not fun. _

So, Áed has not quite left the stage yet, but things between Elric and Lothíriel are going better than expected. As for the baby? I fear you'll just have to wait and see...

When Éomer speaks of a winter when a man from Dunland sat as King in Edoras and Rohirrim suffered famine, he is of course speaking of the Long Winter. During that time Rohan was attacked by Easterlings and Dunlendings and Rohirrim were defeated. This took place at the end of Helm Hammerhand's rule - he died during the events of that war. Eventually the winter ended and Helm's nephew Fréaláf took back Edoras. Dunlendings and Easterlings were driven out of Rohan and Fréaláf became the first king of the Second Line. You can read more about the Long Winter at least in Tolkien Gateway.

Like always, thanks for reading and reviewing! :)

* * *

**R. Zancan - **That is a good point actually! I must have forgotten completely about it. You are right - it does seem odd that no one speaks of Elric's mother. I'll have to fix that asap. Thanks for pointing out! :)

**1607hannah - **I do feel this is the kind of story that needs a lot of work like that, especially with all the uncertain parts... Glad to hear my story is so well appreciated!

**SymphonicPoem - **Well, here you do see her going away, more or less, but to what consequence... that remains to be seen.

**Talia119 - **Hope this chapter answers at least couple of your questions!

**Girlbird - **Yes, I am aware that canonically Éomer and Lothíriel met each other and married after the war. I do care about canon, but it is also interesting sometimes to alter the settings a little bit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Finally after a week and a half of hunting orcs and organising lodgings for farmers that had lost their homes during the raids, Éomer spotted the hill that was the town of Aldburg. Really, the call of duty could not have come on a more inconvenient time, what with his wife's imminent childbirth. His heart had been heavy when he had left her, and not even telling himself that she'd be completely safe and cared for managed to take away his concern.

At the sight of his home, Éomer urged Firefoot into a gallop, and the stallion readily complied. Even after their patrols the horse was eager as ever for some speed; a quality the Marshal very much appreciated in his steed.

The guards at the gates greeted the riders with shouts, but Éomer sped past them. He was so close now, he could not waste time by loitering around... he had to see his wife. Perhaps he had arrived in time? So, in hurry he rode uphill, and all the while his anxiety was eating him away and painting pictures of horror in his mind. What if something had happened while he were gone? A man should not abandon his pregnant wife like that. Oh, she'd be angry with him... that was, if she was even all right. Lots of things could happen in one and a half week!

His thoughts were turning somewhat hysterical when he finally entered the courtyard of his home, and the fact that his wife was not there to receive him only managed to fuel his madly racing mind.

He dismounted and would have ran inside, though he feared what he would find there... but Mistress Bierwén caught him by arm before he could dash inside. The woman apparently was there in the stead of lady of the house.

"My wife?" Éomer asked, his voice strained. The old chatelaine smiled.

"She is well. She has given birth to a healthy little daughter", Bierwén answered. "Congratulations, my lord."

The news had him wavering where he stood, both delighted and relieved for the safe delivery of the child but also disappointed and regretful for not being there.

"And all went well?" he asked quietly.

"Aye. At first we thought something was wrong the way she screamed... but the poor thing was just in shock for what was happening. As soon as we were able to make her calm down, it became apparent it was a normal childbirth and the unexpectedness of it had merely scared her. The little one came a bit early but she is healthy and strong", Bierwén explained.

Éomer grunted something non-committally at that, as he was already in haste to go and greet his wife... and his child.

And so he strode inside, or perhaps it was best called a flight; he very nearly knocked over two servants on his way to the chambers that belonged to him and his wife. All the while his heart beat fast, hammering in his chest with anxiety... until finally, he saw that familiar door and he stormed in, all the way to the bedchamber.

There she was sat on their bed, resting against pillows. Though she had given birth recently, she looked healthy if a bit tired. On the crook of her arm lay their newborn daughter, and evidently she had juts finished nursing the little one. For a moment, all Éomer could do was just to stand there quietly and watch. _His family. _Perhaps it was not one that he had picked, but it was one that had chosen _him. _

Lothíriel lifted her eyes and a small smile came to her face.

"Welcome home, husband", she said softly.

"Lothíriel", was all he managed as an answer; his voice came out weaker than he had intended, for there was a lump in his throat that made talking difficult. The smile on her face widened and reached her eyes.

"Come and meet your daughter", she urged him.

As if in a dream, he approached the bed and sat on the edge of it. The baby had apparently had her fill already, as she sniffled softly and settled again in her mother's arms. It was too soon after the childbirth to really tell if the baby looked more like him or her, but Éomer found he did not care. All that mattered that their child had been born healthy, and that his wife was well too.

"I am sorry for not being here when she was born", he said then, managing a slightly stronger tone this time.

"It's fine. You have your duty as a Marshal", she answered gently, resting one hand on his.

"But I have duty to you too", Éomer murmured, twining his fingers with hers.

"You're here now", she simply answered, and she smiled again. "Would you like to hold her?"

"Of course", he said right away, but then as she offered the child to him, he suddenly felt fearful. He asked: "What if I hurt her?"

"It's all right. Just support her head. She's a child, not glass", Lothíriel said, carefully placing the baby in her husband's arm. And the weight of the little one was light as he held her and the look on her face was calm, although he must have been a rugged sight after his ride, stinking of horses and chain-mail...

He let out a wavering breath as their daughter rested there, already asleep again. Everything about the little one was like a miracle: her mouth that reminded him of his wife now that he looked properly, the soft ruddy skin, the tiny hands... the baby was so small that he thought he could easily have carried her on the palms of his hands.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Lothíriel asked softly.

"That she is", Éomer said weakly.

It took a while for him to gather himself as he quietly watched his daughter sleep, but eventually he felt like being able to speak sentences longer than just three words. He lifted his eyes to look at his wife.

"How are you feeling? Are you getting enough of rest?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Still a bit sore, but it's not so bad anymore", she answered. Then an amused expression came to her face, and she continued, "And I definitely am getting enough of rest... you wouldn't believe the amount of people who would love to look after her. She's only three days old yet she has already wrapped virtually everyone around her little finger..."

Éomer laughed at that.

"Elric must have been all over you. He has been looking forward to this so much", he said.

"Oh, in the end it seemed like he was far more terrified about everything than I was. And he takes after his father, what with the fuss he made when they let him in to see her..." Lothíriel commented and there was that teasing little smile on her face that he found he rather loved.

"I don't make a fuss about things", he firmly told her, at which his wife rolled her eyes.

"Of course not, dearest husband", she snorted.

"I am glad that we agree about that", he said lightly. Then he looked at the baby again, and asked, "What of my Grandmother?"

"I was too tired to get out of bed, but Scýne and Elric took care of it and brought the little one to her. They say she was beyond blissful", Lothíriel answered and settled back against the pillows. He could very well imagine his Grandmother's happiness for seeing the line of Éomund continued... and witnessing this new life, despite all the death.

"How do you feel about it?" he asked softly, searching her face for any sign that she might be uncomfortable. She had been so worried and even scared before, and he had wondered if this would just make her unhappy.

"To be honest, I really don't know yet", she answered at length, and her eyes fell on the baby. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to her, but... I still don't feel like I'm ready for this."

"Perhaps it just takes a while", he offered. It was surprisingly scary to think that maybe she didn't want this child at all, like he did.

"Yes. You're probably right", she said quietly.

He was about to say something but then the little one started to move restlessly and it wasn't long after that she let out a loud cry - "She has inherited your lungs, husband" - and as he had no idea of what to do, he placed the baby back into his wife's lap.

Humming softly, she rocked their daughter in her arms and the baby eventually calmed down.

And as he looked at his two women there, Éomer knew he'd do anything for them.

* * *

With Elfhild's birth, a new era was introduced not only in the daily comings and goings of Marshal's Hall, but also in the lives of Lord and Lady of Aldburg. It was evidenced by things like the toys that had appeared in their chambers, dirty napkins, clothes for small children, and the wooden cradle beside the bed. Suddenly, the rooms were filled with the cries of a baby and voices singing lullabies. A full night's sleep became a rare thing as the little one often had to be fed in the middle of night, and she'd express her need rather loudly.

After childbirth and with all the work of caring for the child, Lothíriel did look often quite tired, which worried her husband. So, as often as he was able, he'd snatch the baby from her and tell her to rest. He'd sit with the child himself, rocking the little one in the crook of his arm or in the cradle while telling stories he knew his daughter did not understand. If he was unable to tend to the little one himself, there were always happy helpers. Scýne didn't mind looking after Elfhild while tending to her own son, and Elric was quite possibly the most devoted older brother in the world. Though he was but a boy, he never expressed anything else than utmost care when handling his little half-sister.

"You know, Éomer, your daughter is probably going to be the most well-looked after girl in all of Rohan. Even if you weren't her father, no one will ever dare to bully her, what with Elric around", Éothain commented with a grin after observing Elric with the baby for a while. He probably wasn't even wrong in saying that.

There was a new thrill to returning home now that he had a child waiting for him too. Of course Elfhild was too small to understand such thing yet, but he could already picture how it would be: riding to the courtyard, and the sound of an excited voice calling him as a little fair-haired girl rushed to meet him with her arms wide open.

Elfhild appeared to have inherited her mother's grey eyes, but soon after her birth, light hair began to grow on her head. She'd likely have the golden hair of her father's kin, unless it would turn darker with age. He thought she had Lothíriel's mouth though, and Elric was convinced they had the same ears. How the boy could tell something like that, the Marshal himself was not sure.

Two weeks after her birth, Éomer made a brief trip to Edoras to bring the news of Elfhild's birth; there were tears of joy in Théoden's eyes when he told the King what name they had chosen for the baby.

"Bring her here as soon as you can. I wish to see your daughter, sister-son", uncle said gently, and Éomer swore the three of them would visit Meduseld as soon as they could. The next day he was already speeding back to Aldburg, anxious not to be too long away from his family... and so deeply entranced he was by the birth of his daughter that even news of Dunlending Captain Áed's escape under unclear circumstances managed to catch his attention for too long.

Sometimes, when Éomer sat with his daughter, and the little one was asleep in his lap, he'd stare at her and wonder about just how much his life had changed during this past year. Only a year ago, he had been an unmarried man... the Marshal's chambers had held hardly any furniture, and he had felt so misplaced here. But now he had a wife and a daughter, and the empty rooms of his life were filling with so much noise.

And for the first time ever since his parents had died, Aldburg was finally starting to feel like home.

* * *

The day had been long and the most of it had passed for Éomer in the middle of organising lodgings to some farmers from the eastern parts of Rohan. It had not been an easy winter for them, as they had barely escaped orcs with their lives; everything else they had been forced to leave behind. He had also busied himself in making queries whether there was any work for the now homeless and bereft families. In his own household there was fortunately some work for a weaver and a kitchen maid, but it would take a while for these families to settle in.

But as he often did these days, he found himself leaving those concerns at the door of their bedchamber. How could he think of anything else anyway, when he saw there his wife and daughter? Lothíriel was sat on the bed, rocking the little one in her arms, and singing a song in a language he recognised as Sindarin. It was a sight for sore eyes.

As quietly as he could, he made his way to bed, sat down and leant against some pillows after getting rid of his boots. When she carefully shuffled back with the baby still in her arms, he spread one arm so that she could settle there. With the two of them by his side, his heart was full and whole. She continued the song again and the flowing sound of Sindarin filled the room with calm.

"What was that song?" he asked her after she had fallen silent.

"It's something my mother used to sing for me when I was a little girl. It's about this sailor's wife, who sings for the sea and asks it to bring her beloved safely back home", Lothíriel answered softly. Elfhild had fallen asleep in her arms.

"It's a beautiful song", he commented and leant back his head, feeling sleepy already.

"I was thinking... I'd like to teach her Sindarin. It was the language I used with my own mother", said his wife after a moment.

"That is fine by me", Éomer answered and gave her temple an absent-minded kiss.

"And you'll doubtlessly teach her all the crude jokes in Rohirric, correct?" Lothíriel asked dryly.

"How did you guess?" he asked, laughter rumbling deep in his chest.

"I just know these things", she told him and turned her head so that she could see his face. "Don't you dare fall asleep there with your clothes on. I'm not going to undress you if you pass out."

"Pity. I was rather hoping you might", he said lightly, trying not to smile but failing miserably.

That made her snort and she muttered to herself something about stupid horselords as she crawled away to put Elfhild to cradle, and to humour her he did get up to undress.

* * *

Her father arrived to Aldburg about a month after a word of Elfhild's birth had been taken to Dol Amroth. Éomer had sent one of his fastest riders, so that the news would reach Dol Amroth as soon as possible. Judging by the ragged looks of not only Father's steed but also the man himself, Lothíriel wondered if he had ridden here without stops, all the way from the city by the sea.

The moment Prince Imrahil rode to the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall, Lothíriel squealed with happiness and wanted to run and hug her father. It was strange and a bit alarming to know that she had not seen him since last May – in other words, little less than a year now.

As soon as he dismounted, she dashed towards him and he caught her, laughing as he did. The feel of his arms was familiar as ever, and like always, it still succeeded in making her feel like a little girl. When her father hugged her, Lothíriel felt like nothing bad could ever touch her. She might be a married woman and a mother now, but her father still had the ability of summoning back the child she had once been.

After a long, tight hug, Father pulled back so that he could look at her properly. He was smiling too, but it was the same bittersweet kind she had seen on his face when they had parted in Minas Tirith.

"Oh, my dear child! It is so good to see you!" he said gently, looking at her as if it had been years since they had last seen each other.

"It's good to see you too, Father! You're most welcome here in Aldburg!" Lothíriel answered.

Her husband approached then, wearing that solemn face of his that usually meant business. He bowed his head at Imrahil as a sign of respect.

"Welcome, my lord. We are honoured to receive you", he said quietly.

"Lord Éomer", said the Prince, nodding his head at the younger man. "I'm glad to find you in residence. My sons tell me you're often away."

Lothíriel thought she heard a vaguely displeased note in her father's voice, as if it were somehow wrong for her husband to attend to his many duties. So she linked her arm with that of Éomer's.

"My lord Marshal is tasked with protecting the entirety of eastern Rohan. It's not a small duty", she said before her husband could say anything, as she knew how sharply he could sometimes speak.

"Of course", said Father with that proper face on him, the kind he always wore in formal occasions. But then he smiled an looked at her. He asked, "Now, where is my little granddaughter? I'd love to see her."

"Of course. She's with the nurse at the moment", Lothíriel said. "Why don't you men get comfortable, and I'll go and get Elfhild?"

"That is a good idea, wife", said her husband, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. She flashed a smile at him and then hurried off to her daughter. Fortunately, Elfhild was awake at the moment, so she only had to scoop the little one in her arms and then make her way to their private chambers.

The men were already sat by then, with mugs of ale and both looking equally uncomfortable. However, the sight of the princess and her little daughter instantly brought smiles to both their faces.

"Look at her! She is beautiful", said Imrahil at the sight of Elfhild, extending his arms impatiently towards his granddaughter. Carefully, Lothíriel lay the child in his lap; he let out a long, soft sigh as he stared down at the baby.

"She looks just like you did at her age", said the prince at last. "Except for her hair, of course. I somehow thought she'd have your hair too."

"You shouldn't be so surprised, Father. She's a daughter of a horselord, after all", Lothíriel said, sitting down beside the Prince. He smiled, rocking the little one in his arms like someone who knew how to handle small children. Well, he had four children of his own, so of course he did how to handle babies.

"Of course", Imrahil said, looking down at Elfhild. She stared right back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. "I just didn't think you'd be the one to produce my second grandchild."

"Neither did I expect that", Lothíriel said softly, her eyes fixed on Elfhild as well. When she glanced at her father, she could see that look on his face that promised there would be a long talk between the two of them some time soon. She had asked Erchirion to tell Father everything was fine, but of course he'd want to make sure himself that it was true.

Thinking perhaps it was for the best to change the topic for now, Lothíriel sat a bit straighter on her seat and looked at her father again.

"King Théoden has summoned us to Edoras. He wants to see Elfhild, his grandniece. We are set to leave in couple of days, but perhaps you could come along, Father? You'd get to see Meduseld, and I'm sure the King would like you to visit, now that you're here in Rohan", she explained. She briefly glanced at her husband too, to see what he might be thinking of her suggestion. Éomer just nodded silently at her, evidently as a sign of agreement.

Imrahil thought of it for a moment, gazing down at the face of his granddaughter as if deep in thoughts. Then he looked up and smiled.

"That would be an honour, of course", he said. "I fear I cannot stay for long, though. Elphir and Erchirion have everything under control in Dol Amroth, but your uncle was not too happy to see me leave for this journey... it took a while to persuade him that my absence would not cause any catastrophic events in the southern parts of Gondor. You know how he can be."

"Oh, I do", Lothíriel agreed. Casting a look at her husband, she smiled and commented, "Uncle Denethor takes all our duties more seriously than we others combined."

"He seemed like a great man, what little I saw of him during our visit", said the Marshal carefully.

"That he is", Imrahil said softly. He smiled at his daughter, "I saw your cousin Faramir in Minas Tirith before I departed. He asked me to bring his fondest greetings to you."

"Thank you, Father. You'll have to take back mine, once you go home", Lothíriel answered. Suddenly, a lump formed in her throat as she understood how much she missed her cousin, along with the rest of her family. She remembered how worried he had been for her happiness... and he hoped that she might one day tell him not to worry for her.

Then, summoning a smile on her face, she asked her father of his journey here, and thankfully the rest of the conversation went along a less painful and uncomfortable line.

* * *

This time, the travel to Edoras took about twice as long as before. That was of course because Elfhild came along, and thus both the child and the mother had to travel by a wagon. Lothíriel herself would have loved nothing better than getting to ride, as her pregnancy had prevented her from doing that for months. Before leaving, she had gone to see her mare and patted Ǽfnung's neck, promising that soon the two of them would go for a long and hard ride.

It was frustratingly slow, to travel by wagon, but at least Father rode beside to keep her company. It was a good opportunity to talk and share all the things that had happened ever since the wedding in last May. Showing him around in Aldburg had been nice, though apparently Father's favourite occupation was to sit with her and speak while holding little Elfhild. It had been rather surprising when he didn't even comment on Elric, the first time he saw the boy. When Lothíriel had told her father that she'd have expected outrage from him, he had just given her a dry little smile.

"It is a good thing you didn't see me when Erchirion told me about the boy", he said. Not much more was spoken of that particular matter, but Lothíriel could sense her father was, while not entirely approving, not going to raise an argument. Apparently some kind of talk did take place between him and Éomer when she wasn't around, but she could never tell what had been the outcome of it. Well, they were both alive still so perhaps it had gone better than she'd have expected.

And after Imrahil had been in Aldburg for three days, the four of them along with some riders from the Marshal's éored started the journey to Edoras.

"My husband says Théoden King is very anxious to see Elfhild. He says it's getting harder to reach the old king these days, so it's good that he's so interested in his grandniece", Lothíriel told her father. The Prince thought of her words silently and then gave her a slightly worried look.

"I did not know it was like that here in Rohan", he said quietly. "It worries me, daughter. I fear for your sake... and for the sake of your child."

"It's all right, Father", she said. "I don't think these matters should concern me or Elfhild, and anyway my lord husband will take care of us."

"He'd better, lest he wants to deal with four very angry princes from Dol Amroth", Imrahil muttered. He glanced at his daughter, frowning as he spoke, "and I wish I could believe you, but I can't help but fear it will come to concern the two of you as well. You're the Marshal's wife and the mother of his daughter... Lothíriel, you may very well be more important than you even realise."

At that, Lothíriel sighed. She made a face, and said, "Why couldn't uncle pick some Gondorian lord for me? I'm not so sure I'm good at coping with all these troubled tidings."

Her father snorted at that.

"My dear, we both know very well that a Gondorian lord would never have suited you, and if there were no troubled tidings, you'd cause some yourself", he told her, which made her laugh.

"I suppose you're not entirely wrong to say that, Father", she admitted.

"Of course I'm not. I'm your father, so I ought to know", he answered lightly. It was good to be able to have this carefree banter with him, like they used to in old times.

The wagon rolled forward and for a while they were silent; Imrahil looked lost in his thoughts while Lothíriel busied herself with calming down Elfhild. The little one was a bit restless, as she wasn't used to travel.

When her daughter had drifted into sleep, Lothíriel looked him again.

"Father?" she asked carefully, not entirely sure of how he'd react to what she was about to ask.

"Yes, daughter?" he asked back and turned to look at her again.

"What do you think Mother would have thought of all this?" she asked softly.

Imrahil lowered his eyes and let out a small sigh. It had been years since Mother had died but Lothíriel knew how it still pained him.

"She would have been sad to see you go", he said at length. "You were, after all, her only daughter. In fact, I even feel she would have put up quite a fight with Lord Denethor, to prevent you from leaving..."

"What would she think of Lord Éomer?" Lothíriel wanted to know. That made her father smile.

"I imagine she'd have lectured him so that he'd know to treat you well. Your mother was a formidable woman sometimes... but if she decided he was good enough for you, she'd treat him like she treated all of her family", he said softly.

"She'd have thought she had acquired another son", Lothíriel concluded. Somehow that made her smile.

"About so, yes. And she would have adored Elfhild. She always wanted more daughters", Imrahil said, his voice turning downcast.

"I'm sorry, Father. I shouldn't have asked", said the princess quickly, seeing that same old sorrow on her father's face.

"It's fine, daughter. She wouldn't want to become a touchy subject for conversations. It is good to remember her", Imrahil answered gently. He smiled then, and asked, "Now, would you like to tell me about Edoras? What should I expect once we get there?"

From there, they proceeded into a conversation on the capital of horselords and Rohirric customs, which proved most entertaining as soon as Éothain joined; the rest of the way was spent in talking of differences between Gondorians and the Rohirrim.

They arrived to Edoras late on that night, but like before, Éowyn was there to welcome them. A smile came to her face as soon as she saw the little one in Lothíriel's arms.

"Béma be kind, she is adorable!" said Éomer's sister as she regarded the baby. Then she took note of Imrahil, who had stopped to stand just behind his daughter, and Éowyn looked at him quizzically.

"Lady Éowyn, this is my father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. He came to visit his granddaughter, and we decided to invite him along. Father, meet Lady Éowyn, my sister-in-law", Lothíriel introduced the two to each other.

Her husband's sister curtsied at Imrahil, who answered the gesture with a bow of his own.

"Well met, my lady", he greeted the tall Rohir woman.

"Likewise, my lord. It is an unexpected honour, but my uncle the King will doubtlessly be delighted", Éowyn answered. "I will have chambers prepared for you."

"Is the King receiving any visitors tonight?" Éomer asked.

"He has already retired, brother. I fear we must wait until tomorrow", said his sister, her voice turning serious. Lothíriel wondered if that signified something grave. She wasn't left to think of that, as Éowyn continued, "Please come in. I'll have them bring you some supper, and we can sit down and share tidings. Not to mention I'd like to take a closer look on that little niece of mine."

"Of course", said her brother with a smile. "Just so long you don't try to steal her."

"Steal your daughter, dear brother? I am wiser than that", Éowyn snorted, and they made their way inside the Golden Hall.

* * *

Théoden King appeared to be completely enamoured with his grandniece. When little Elfhild was introduced to him the next day, this great light came to his eyes, and it appeared to almost dissolve the fog of weariness Lothíriel had perceived in him. Elfhild was very well-behaved as well, staring at her granduncle with wide, unblinking eyes as the old man held her in his arms. When the King's cooing succeeded in bringing out her happy smile, Lothíriel could not tell who was the most thrilled about it: her husband or Théoden King himself.

By the looks of it, it seemed to Lothíriel that the Lord of the Mark would have been quite happy to sit with the child for the rest of the day, and it took some effort to recapture his attention long enough so that Éomer could introduce Prince Imrahil to Théoden King. The difference between the tired old king and the tall, energetic prince was painfully obvious. But her father was gracious and subtle about it as ever, for which she was grateful. Yet it worried her too, for she knew he would make his own assumptions... and feel ever more troubled for her sake.

Realising that, she felt concern... and almost unconsciously, she reached for the hand of her husband to seek for strength. It was there, in the calloused fingers of Éomer, and she felt a bit more courageous when she thought he'd be there to look after not only her, but also their child.

If there was anything encouraging about this, it was the way Théoden King smiled, and the way he ignored Gríma Wormtongue, who stood by his side as ever. It was encouraging, for the King could still be reached and he still had such love for his kin. However, it was alarming too, as for the smallest moment she could see the unveiled hate in Wormtongue's eyes as he realised that this day, his influence had been conquered by that of a child.

It was all Lothíriel could do from dashing in between her daughter and Wormtongue, and burying a knife in his heart to prevent him from ever harming Elfhild.

Before that moment Lothíriel, the Princess of Dol Amroth and the Lady of Aldburg had never contemplated taking a life... but as she looked at Gríma Wormtongue, she understood she would not hesitate to kill a man to protect her child.

* * *

The moment she saw the child – _their child – _a powerful feeling of being ill came to Dreda. Somehow, it all was more tangible, more definite now. Of course, the little thing had been there for months and months already, growing under the princess' heart with terrifying inevitability... but an unborn child was far less definitive than one that had already been born. From now on, the child would grow, she'd have a personality and a name of her own, and she'd call _him _a father and _her _a mother.

_His _daughter, carried and birthed by a woman who wasn't Dreda. And the way he looked at them... the little one in the princess' arms, and the damned Gondorian herself...

A sense of defeat came to Dreda then, for she saw that look and knew what it meant. He wasn't hers anymore. Éomer belonged to them now, he was theirs and they were his, and he was too damned honourable to give them up for anyone.

Her hatred turned bitter and sorrowful at that realisation. What was left for her now? She had been sent away from her home, and the man she loved was a husband to another woman. And even if by some miracle the princess was removed, her daughter would remain, and be the constant reminder of Dreda's defeat.

She was the proof that he had chosen a stranger over Dreda, the one he had known all his life.

So she turned and half-ran outside, wishing to escape the sight of the family that could have been hers. The wind was cold but she barely noticed from the burning of tears and grief, and Dreda wrapped her arms about herself in a desperate attempt to hold back the sobs that threatened to tear her apart.

"Most peculiar. I was under the impression that the new life in the House of Eorl would make everyone happy", came a soft voice of a man they called Wormtongue. During her time in Edoras, Dreda had learned he was someone you ought not to quarrel with. Though he was of slight build and probably not much of a challenge in an honest to Béma combat, he was dangerous. For his power was of different kind, and the King more often that not paid careful heed to what he said.

"Just tears of joy", Dreda muttered, wiping a hand across her eyes. She would not cry on the front of this man – or many man, that was.

"Of course", Gríma said softly, and he took a step closer to her. His pale eyes followed her unblinkingly, and he continued, "but I could not help but notice the looks you gave the Gondorian princess."

Her mouth became a thin line.

"You see many things, my lord", she said non-committally, wondering how she might excuse herself from this conversation.

"Indeed I do", he said, smiling ever so slightly. That smile did little to console her, though. "But I do share your sentiment, Dreda. I am not too pleased to see her here either."

"Is that so?" she answered carefully, not sure how she should tread here. Was it some elaborate trap? What was she supposed to say?

"No. Gondorians have no place amongst us... least of all, her. Don't you agree?" he asked.

"Aye. Strangers don't belong here", Dreda muttered before she could stop herself. The smile on Wormtongue's face widened.

"You would like to see her gone, then?" he asked, lowering his voice to make sure only she heard him.

"Nothing would please me more", she answered.

"Then we are of the same mind, my friend. I can help you, but only if you help me in turn. And it is going to take some patience and time", he said quietly, his pale eyes intensely focused on her.

Perhaps this man was a blessing in disguise... sort of, at least. Keeping her face as straight as possible, she studied Gríma for a moment. Obviously, the man had his own endgame in mind, and she was fairly certain it was nothing good.

But she didn't have to go all the way to the end of it with him, did she?

Let him do her dirty work... and then she'd jump off the wagon when she considered that done. After that, the men of the House of Eorl did not need much encouraging or excuses to rid the land of the snake. Théodred or Éomer, or possibly even the two of them together, would take care of this Wormtongue.

And she'd have her future.

* * *

**A/N: **So the baby has been safely delivered, and all seems to be well for now... but how long will this last?

It was rather nice to bring Imrahil to Edoras - we'll probably see more of his interactions with Rohirrim in the next chapter. Maybe even that conversation he had with Éomer... we'll see. Anyway, he does seem to be coming in terms with his daughter's new life.

As usual, thanks for the comments!

* * *

**1607hannah - **I do feel that this version of Lothíriel would have more conflicted feelings about the pregnancy than some other versions I've written. But like she discovers here, there is something of a Mama Bear inside her after all.

**Talia119 -** I fear that the matter of Áed will remain bit of a mystery right now. But perhaps we'll get back to him sooner or later, and also to how he escaped justice.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

_March 3018, Edoras_

As it appeared that Théoden King was rather taken with his little grandniece, Éomer had suggested they stay in Edoras for few days longer than originally intended. He could tell his wife wasn't entirely thrilled with it but she did seem to understand the importance of positive effect it would hopefully have on the King, and anyway it was a good chance for her to get to know his sister a bit better. Éowyn at least was just happy to have them stay in Edoras.

And as it had been strange to share his small chamber with Lothíriel during their last stay, now it was even stranger with the little one there; Éowyn had been able to find a cradle for Elfhild, and as far as Éomer could tell, it was probably even the same one where Théodred had rested when he had been a newborn child. The little room was suddenly filling with so much noise and life, and it felt peculiar.

Prince Imrahil on the other hand observed his environment with a look that Éomer himself could not really decipher. What his father-in-law thought of what he saw in Edoras never showed on his face and he spoke of it even less, but he was not idle at least. He spent much time speaking with Master Metodlác but also with the husband of his daughter, and most of them were spent in conversing whether some kind of trading relationship could be established between Dol Amroth and Aldburg. It was an interesting prospect at least, and Éomer knew his people would have benefited much from it. But as the roads were so unsafe, he wasn't so sure how plans like theirs could be realised.

On the third day of their stay, he invited his father-in-law to join him for a hunt, if just to try and establish a bit more relaxed relationship between himself and the Prince. Though Imrahil always remained polite, there was also stiffness to his manners, and the reasons for it were not lost to the Marshal. For one, he knew it continued to trouble the Prince that he had been half-forced to give his daughter as a wife of a Rohirric warrior... and the matter of Elric had not helped. Well, at the very least the boy had been his own best advocate with his considerate and caring treatment of Elfhild. Back in Aldburg, Éomer had spied Imrahil watching Elric singing Rohirric songs to the little one, and he hoped that Elfhild's look of contentment had not been lost to the Prince.

It had been soon afterwards that the Marshal and the Prince had their conversation, and Imrahil had even allowed that perhaps he did not understand the Rohirrim the way he should. Éomer had considered that a major accomplishment, as he had been rather worried for what his wife's father would say.

Nonetheless, a proper hunt did seem like a good way of bonding with the Prince, and so they rode out from Edoras on an early morning of March. As Elfhelm and Erkenbrand had been in Edoras as well, they decided to come along: it was quite a gathering that rode out from the capital that day.

They had already taken down two deer, but it was barely afternoon and the weather was fair, so they decided not to return to Edoras quite yet. Imrahil at least seemed to be moderately entertained by the chance of observing some proper Rohirric hunting. With a smile, he even told his son-in-law: "I will have to take you fishing once you visit Dol Amroth, my lord."

The idea of sea did not seem too appealing, but the Marshal kept that thought to himself.

"Your daughter at least would love to come and stay in her old home for a while", he commented.

"And you're welcome of course, but she tells me matters here in Rohan would prevent the two of you making a journey so long", Imrahil answered.

"That is true", Éomer allowed. "But perhaps the situation will be different in a year or two."

"Let us hope so", said the Prince quietly, but the look on his face was not convinced that would actually be so. Then he seemed to shake himself and even gave a small smile to the younger man. He said, "I am glad to see that Erchirion was not wrong in his assessment. That is, Lothíriel adjusting so well here among the Rohirrim."

"She is doing very well, aye", agreed the Marshal, smiling briefly as he thought of his wife. "And I assure you that she is held in high esteem."

A thoughtful expression came to Imrahil's face but his eyes remained ever sharp and alert. Then he smiled again.

"Indeed it seems so", he said. He chuckled, "Myself and my escort stayed in this tavern for one night on our way to your town. I happened to overhear this conversation – they spoke Westron, so I could understand too – and this man was telling how the King's nephew rode east and there he found an errant ray of Moon. She had lost her wings so she could not return to celestial planes, and so she agreed to ride with the Third Marshal of the Mark. And now the Marshal sits in Aldburg and Moon Lady stands beside him as his wife."

Éomer could not help but laugh at that. Who on earth had come up with such an incredulous tale?

"That is quite a story, my lord", he said, "and it disregards entirely the political implications of the actual events..."

"That is usually the way of hearsay tales, Lord Marshal", Imrahil agreed. "Nevertheless, I am glad she is so appreciated. I rest easier with the knowledge that my daughter is cared for and happy... that no matter what happens, she is not alone."

"She won't be", said the younger man quietly. "I promise I will-"

But he never got to finish his sentence, for suddenly there was a shrill noise of a horse screaming his last, and a yell of a man. Such noises were all too familiar to Éomer: how many times had he heard those sounds in a battle? His blood rushed with adrenaline, preparing him for a fight. In this thicket they were riding in he couldn't tell what had just taken place, but somewhere near there was something ill taking place.

"Éothain!" he bellowed at his second in command, and so many a battle they had ridden into together that the older man fell right back to that same routine they had perfected together.

Éothain came riding to the Marshal, his face focused and fierce.

"A warg, my lord!" he exclaimed.

"Is it a scout? Are there any more of them?" Éomer asked.

"None that we can see. Should I send outriders?" asked the captain, holding his horse that was furiously tossing his head – Rohirric steeds disliked few things more than wargs.

"We should stay together, in case there are more of them. Take that beast down!" barked the Marshal his command, and with fast efficiency his men proceeded to take care of the warg.

Éomer had heard stories of those fell creatures, had even seen some during his patrols in east. They were vicious animals that, even when unaccompanied by orcs, could inflict ruin and terror. A warg, this close to Edoras and settlements of unarmed farmers...

When he and Imrahil rode to the scene, the beast had already been surrounded by his men and he knew he could trust them to take care of this menace. Indeed, Erkenbrand was there as well, and the man was renowned warg-killer. The beast itself was a bony and famished thing; it was rather small which was probably why its pack had abandoned it. But ugly it was and had an evil look that was shared by all its species. These creatures were considered vermin as their flesh wasn't edible and even their tangled furs were infested by fleas. And who would have wanted anything to do with beasts so foul?

"So that is a warg. I have never seen one in my life", said Imrahil quietly as they watched the riders finish the animal.

"Be glad of that, my lord. They are a fell species and many a good man and a steed has fallen because of them.. I dream of a day when they ravage our lands any longer", Éomer muttered darkly.

"So far looks like it was the only one, my lord", Éothain reported then. "There's no signs of others."

"Still, it troubles me. Wargs this close to Edoras? It can mean nothing good. I'll have to speak with the King of this... perhaps he'll increase patrols", said the Marshal.

"In that case, you'd better consult with Théodred. He should take the matter more seriously", Éothain said in quiet Rohirric; the choice of language had Imrahil's eyes narrowing in suspicion, but the Prince said nothing.

"Aye. Perhaps he should send Erkenbrand on this errand..." Éomer mused, half to himself. He cast a look around, straightening in his saddle, "We'd better scout the area. There could be more of these, and I'd rather not leave them wandering freely. Is that fine by you, my lord?"

"Oh, I don't mind. We are on a hunting trip, aren't we?" said Imrahil, and with that, the company rode forward.

* * *

Lothíriel was just in the middle of nursing her daughter when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was probably Éowyn, she called over her shoulder: "Come in!"

She was in their chamber, sat at the edge of bed with the little one in the crook of her arm. It was rather crowded in the small room, what with her own things and Elfhild's along with those of her husband's. But at least they should not stay there for too long. And it was usually entertaining to observe Éomer when he entered the chamber, looking like he didn't quite fit in the room.

The door was opened and there were steps – too heavy to be Éowyn's, who always walked with such lightness that it was almost like her feet did not even touch the ground. The princess glanced back and there at the foot of the bed stood none else than Prince Théodred, wearing an awkward little smile.

"My lord", she said, blinking in confusion. "I did not know you were in Edoras."

"I've only just arrived an hour ago. I had word that my cousin had brought you and your daughter here, so I decided to come and pay my respects as well", answered the Prince. His eyes fell on the little girl, who suckled at her mother's breast with no consideration for the Prince's arrival.

"I see", Lothíriel answered warily. They had not really talked ever since that night back in Aldburg, though he had come to see his cousin couple of times. He had been polite of course, but he had kept his distance, for which she had been grateful. "Well, here she is."

A sad little smile came to Théodred's face as he looked at the baby, and he gingerly sat down beside her. Eyes fixed on Elfhild, he somehow looked immensely happy and painfully sorrowful at the same time.

"She is a beautiful little thing", he said softly. "I am glad that everything went well."

"At least they tell me it was an easy childbirth. It did not feel like that then, though", Lothíriel commented. Elfhild's mouth slipped from her breast and the baby sighed, apparently full now.

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again... my cousin is a lucky man", Théodred said, not meeting her gaze.

"Indeed", said the princess as she was not so sure what she should answer. She looked at him, "Would you mind holding her for a bit? I need my hands empty..."

"Of course", he said readily, and his movements were very careful when he took the little one in his lap. She took that chance to button up her gown... but it was not lost to her how his eyes lingered on the roundness of her breast. The Prince saw she had noticed and quickly looked away, and suddenly she wished her husband could have been here. Or perhaps she should just call for Éowyn. Then again, she had feeling either of them would have noticed the awkward atmosphere right away. She didn't really want to imagine what would have happened then.

As soon as she had covered herself, Lothíriel placed a towel over her shoulder and took back her daughter, placing the child against it and gently rubbing Elfhild's back.

"Where is my cousin, by the way?" Théodred asked them, evidently wanting to distract them both.

"He is out hunting with my father Imrahil", Lothíriel answered. "Father came from Dol Amroth to see us... it is good to have him here."

"Of course. You miss him much, my lady?" asked the Prince.

"I do, as I miss all my Gondorian family", Lothíriel said quietly.

"Master Metodlác spoke well of him after he returned from the White City. I look forward to meeting him", Théodred said. He was watching Elfhild again, but the little one was now more interested in her mother's braid than anything else.

"And my father is equally enthusiastic to meet my new Rohirric kin", Lothíriel answered. Indeed, Imrahil had asked of the Crown Prince too... probably to determine if he had made the right choice when he had given her hand in marriage to Éomer. To this day, she couldn't really tell what his ultimate opinion on that matter might be.

She glanced at the King's son who sat beside her, and for a moment she wondered how it would have been like if he had been her husband. It was kind of obvious that he had an eye for her, so perhaps she could even have been content with him... but then, there was his striking, golden-haired cousin, and Lothíriel was hit with the realisation that she could not really imagine a life now where Éomer wasn't her husband. Somehow, that made her smile. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing...

Her thoughts were disrupted then, for a strange look had come to Théodred's face, and he stared at her as if she'd disappear any moment.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" she asked, wondering what he might be thinking.

"I should not speak it aloud, my lady... but it is such a painful feeling, looking at you and your daughter and knowing the two of you could have been mine", he said and his voice was barely a whisper.

That did astonish her, and Lothíriel froze, unsure how to respond. She knew the Rohirrim were a straightforward people, but this? Even for their standards, it was blunt. Eyes wide, she stared at her husband's cousin and desperately tried to think of something to say... but her speech had abandoned her. Instinctively, she held on tighter to Elfhild.

Apparently, the Prince saw something in her eyes, or thought he did, for he leant towards her... and she knew he would kiss her if she didn't do something fast. Lothíriel jumped on her feet and glared at him.

"My lord, you are far too familiar with me!" she exclaimed, trying to sound furious but somehow her voice came as a croaking noise. Be it as may, it appeared to have the hoped effect, as the Prince fell back; on his face, there was regret and shame. Angrily, she continued, "You'd do well to remember I am wife to your cousin, my lord. I will not dishonour him, and neither should you!"

"Forgive me, my lady. I do not know what overcame me... I am sorry", he mumbled in embarrassment, and he stumbled on his feet. The look in his eyes was so sad and regretful that somehow she found herself relenting... even pitying him. He bowed and asked, "Will you accept my apology, Lady Princess?"

"I... I will", she said at length, "as long as you promise you will not approach me in such way again."

"Of course. I promise", Théodred said softly. For a moment, she thought she saw tears in his eyes, but that could very well have been a trick of shadow and light, and anyway he turned away too fast for her to see for sure. When he looked at her again, his face was again solemn and composed.

"I take my leave then, my lady. Good day", he said, and before she could answer, he had already stridden out.

* * *

_Happy little family. _

Crowding about the princess and her brat at the table in the hall, they looked like they belonged together – even the tall, foreign-looking Prince Imrahil, who was laughing at something his daughter had said. Beside the princess, Éomer sat with the baby in his arms, and Lady Éowyn was in the middle of braiding his sister-in-law's hair. The men had returned from their hunting trip and apparently were now talking about it with the women.

Indeed, there was a sense of calm about them, but what got to Dreda the worst was how _he _looked like. Ever since Marshal Éomund and Princess Théodwyn had died, it had been a rare thing to see their son looking happy. Especially on the latest years, concerns had made their home on his features and turned his expression into a frown more often than not. But now? _He was smiling. _It wasn't some large grin, but it was the kind that even reached his dark eyes.

Somehow, it renewed her anger. Not because he was happy, but the reason of it.

He was happy for all the wrong reasons.

Dreda ground her teeth, turning away from the sight. In frustration, she thought of the conversation between herself and Wormtongue. He had demanded they wait and lay low for now – wait for that perfect moment to strike. But she was done with waiting! She had already waited since the last May, when the Marshal had returned from Mundburg with his bride. And every day she waited took him further away from her.

These bitter thoughts still had her boiling late on that same night when Gríma Wormtongue approached her from the shadows; they were meeting in one dark corner some time before midnight. At this hour, all the household was already fast asleep and so it wasn't very likely that they would be seen talking.

As he appeared from the darkness, Dreda could not help but shiver. He did not look entirely unlike how one might imagine a ghost, and altogether there was something disconcerting about the man's pale eyes. She liked him not, and there was even a part of her that questioned whether it was wise to ally herself with this man. But he was a means to an end, and she only had to tolerate him until her wishes had come true.

"What is it now? Why did you want to speak with me?" Wormtongue asked, speaking in those soft tones he always used.

"I need our plans to move faster. I am done with waiting", Dreda said sharply, deciding it best just to get to the point. The pale man's face just barely shifted, and she could tell he wasn't impressed.

"Our plans move exactly at that pace it has to move", he said coolly. "And they will not be hastened because of your impatience."

"Well, they have to be! Or do you expect me to just sit and watch while that wench parades about like she owns the place?" Dreda snapped; the mere thought had her blood boiling again.

"Sit and watch is exactly what you _are _going to do, Dreda", Gríma answered, assuming an overly patient tone as if he were talking to a child. "I did not promise you an easy or quick solution. And if you cannot be bothered to be patient, then I have no use for you."

"Fine. Then perhaps the Marshal or Prince Théodred himself hears of your little schemes?" she inquired, narrowing her eyes.

But if she had hoped she would be a player formidable enough to startle this man, she was sorely mistaken. Gríma's pale face twisted with contempt.

"They can take your concerns to the King, of course", he said calmly. "And we shall then see what Théoden has to say about some paranoid little healer's accusations. In fact, I have a feeling he might not appreciate hearing the news that someone plans to remove the mother of his grandniece..."

That nearly stupefied her, and at first Dreda wasn't so sure what to answer. She hardened herself nevertheless, thinking she did not want him thinking he had bested her.

"He won't believe you", she claimed briskly. Gríma lifted his nearly non-existent eyebrows just slightly.

"Do you wish to find that out, Dreda?" he asked.

Biting her lip, she realised she had lost this battle. Truth was, the King was far more likely to believe him than her... and unless she had clear proof of his misconduct, she couldn't rely on Prince Théodred or Éomer to take care of him either.

In fact, would they dare go against the King at all to kill this worm, even if she could somehow prove he was to be blamed for all?

"Now, I hope our little chat has cleared your head and reminded you of the importance of patience. We _are _doing this my way, whether you want it or not... and you are going to do as I say. Is this understood?" Wormtongue asked, his voice sharp and cold.

"Aye", she muttered in defeat, turned around, and left.

As she went, Dreda wondered just in what trouble had she gotten herself into when she had agreed to work with Gríma Wormtongue... and if there ever was a clean way out of it for her.

* * *

After sitting with Éowyn for a while, Lothíriel made her way towards the chamber that belonged to her little family; Elfhild had been there as well of course, napping on Éowyn's bed while the two women sat talking. To her own pleasure and that of her husband, she was getting along with her sister-in-law rather well. Éowyn too seemed to appreciate her company.

But now Elfhild was restless after her nap and was squirming in her mother's arms, and as she was trying to calm down her baby, the fabric of her needlework fell from her other hand.

"Oh, calm down already, little one", she muttered in frustration and placed Elfhild more steadily against her shoulder; she was about to lean down to pick up her needlework when suddenly, Dreda appeared as if from nowhere. Before Lothíriel could react, the golden-haired woman had already crouched down to pick up the fabric. In surprise, the princess froze and stared at Dreda as she stretched her hand to pass the fallen object to her. But then she shook herself and summoned a smile of gratitude.

"Thank you. I seem to have become so clumsy as of late..." she said as she took the piece of fabric from Dreda's extended hand.

"You're welcome, my lady", said the Rohir woman quietly. Lothíriel could not really tell what was the colour of her voice or the expression on her face, and before she could really study her, Dreda had already turned around and gone her way.

_How strange. _

* * *

"... my lord, I do think you truly should consider this... he has become very strong, and the people love him. And with that Gondorian princess as his wife, he'll only become more powerful. You must act before he does, my king", Gríma Wormtongue's voice carried from Father's chambers, instantly filling Théodred's heart with loathing and anger.

"And what do you propose, Gríma? How do you suppose Marshal Éomer will act?" asked the Prince, hard and unimpressed. He had stepped into the sitting room that was part of the royal chambers. Father was sat by the fire, still clad in his furs as if he were cold even in the warmth of embers. Gríma was sat across him but turned to look at Théodred at the sound of his voice.

From his childhood, Théodred remembered these chambers being much more airy and light. But now the windows were covered and a stale smell hovered everywhere. He could only wonder how Father was able to stand it.

"I am merely expressing my concern, my Prince", said Gríma ever so softly, but he couldn't hide the look of hatred in his pale eyes. "I have an ill feeling about the Marshal."

"That feeling is wrongly placed", Théodred said calmly, turning towards his father. He approached the King of Rohan and lowered himself on one knee. "Father, I must say Gríma's concerns are entirely without reason and sense. Your nephew has only ever obeyed your will and respected you. He has done everything you have asked of him, and more. You may doubt any other man's loyalty, but not his."

"Then what of the seer's words? Why does Ethelgifu call the Marshal's wife a queen?" Gríma pointed out.

"Probably for the same reason she said that my crown was with Béma. If you can tell me what that means, then you are a wiser man than myself. Wiser... or crazier", Théodred said dryly. "I would not go against one of King's most faithful men because of what a mad old woman said."

He took his father's hand in his own and sought Théoden's eyes, hoping to reach the reason that he knew still was there.

"Father", he continued, "I beg of you to consider this carefully. Remember the love you had for Théodwyn and Éomund. Would their son go against you, who loved him like his own child? And now he has a daughter too. Would you take him away from his child, like Éomund and Théodwyn were taken from their children? Please, think of Elfhild, if nothing else moves you."

And then, at the mention of Éomer's daughter, Théoden King's features finally turned soft and gentle.

"Aye", agreed the old king. "A child should never lose a parent. Such sadness has haunted our House quite enough."

Théodred smiled at his father, feeling the relief relax his tense muscles. He dared not think what might happen if Éomer was removed from his place... for who then could protect the eastern parts of the realm? And who would answer calls of aid, if the safety of the Riddermark was threatened?

"Have faith in your kin, Father. We should not go against each other, for in the end, the only thing we truly have is our love and loyalty", said Théodred softly.

"My son speaks wisely", Théoden said at length. "Gríma, I would rather you speak no more of this."

"As my king commands", Wormtongue muttered, bowed at the King of the Mark, and went about his way.

His look of hatred was not lost to the Prince, however... and he feared what it might come to mean.

* * *

Erchirion was there to welcome him when Imrahil finally rode to Minas Tirith after his journey. It had been an interesting trip and it had certainly given him much food for thought, but it was also good to see the town house that had belonged to the princes of Dol Amroth ever since the times immemorial.

"Welcome back, Father", Erchirion greeted him, reaching his hand for the reins of Imrahil's horse.

"Thank you, son. I trust everything is well here? And Dol Amroth is still in one piece?" he asked.

"Of course. Elphir has taken care of your duties most admirably", said Erchirion.

"Good to hear that. Now, shall we go inside?" asked the Prince, and the two men made their way to the beautiful light house that was the family's residence here in the White City.

When they were sat in a sunny parlour, Erchirion cast a quizzical look at Imrahil.

"Well? What did you think?" he asked. "And what news of our sister and her child?"

It was quite a question, that one. What did Imrahil truly think? Oh, he thought many things... and no doubt Denethor would also demand a full report very soon. But perhaps he should begin with Lothíriel.

"She and the baby are both well and healthy. To speak truthfully, I was a bit fearful for how I'd find her with her newborn child, but Lothíriel seems to have assumed the role of a mother surprisingly well", said the Prince at length. He stroke his chin absent-mindedly, "I never thought she was one for raising a family, but now it comes to her most naturally."

"Have they named the child already?" asked his son.

"Oh, yes. They call her Elfhild, after King Théoden's late wife. The baby is a lovely little thing, I suppose... she has Lothíriel's eyes, but I think she'll grow to resemble her father's kin rather than her mother's", Imrahil answered. "Your sister is doing remarkably well, I must say. She seems happy... I had my doubts when you first said so, but you were right."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear that. I was just as astonished when we visited her... but perhaps our Lothíriel has found her place in Rohan", Erchirion mused. He narrowed his eyes, and asked: "What of Prince Théodred, then? Do you think it would have been better for her to marry him?"

Imrahil sat silent for a while, his brow furrowed as he thought about his son's question.

"In all honesty, I can't say for sure. I talked with him and he seemed like a level-headed man. Probably he would have been just as good choice as the Marshal. He is calmer, at least. Something tells me Lothíriel's husband has something of a temper and I wonder if it will turn out a problem. But maybe someone with bit of a spirit suits her better. I don't know if Prince Théodred could live up to Lothíriel on her... hmm, more boisterous moments", he answered thoughtfully.

"And the situation in Rohan? Should we be concerned?" Erchirion asked, studying his father's face intently.

"I wish I could say for sure, but... the King is old and tired, and I don't think he has many years left in him. He did not seem like a leader to me. That could very well become a matter of great significance. But as long as Prince Théodred has any power in that land, and Marshal Éomer is beside him... perhaps there is yet hope. They are good men, and if Gondor calls for aid, they will answer. If only..." Imrahil said, but then he fell quiet and he frowned.

"What is it?" asked his son.

"If only neither of them are taken away before that time comes", said the Prince softly. "Rohan's future is not untroubled, and I fear what fate might yet have in store for us."

"Then maybe the marriage of our sister to their Marshal is ever more important", Erchirion concluded.

"Let us hope so", Imrahil answered.

When he thought of the pale-eyed man who had stood by King Théoden's elbow, and particularly the looks he had given to little Elfhild, the Prince of Dol Amroth shivered.

_I gave my daughter to your keeping, Marshal Éomer. Now it is up to you to keep her safe. _

* * *

_July 3018, Aldburg_

The day of late June was turning into an evening when Prince Théodred rode to the town of Aldburg. There were some matters he wished to speak of with his cousin, and anyway, these days visiting the seat of Marshal Éomer was proving to be one of the nicer times in his life.

That was because in the house of his cousin, he felt there was life – something which had eluded the heirs of Eorl for quite some time... right until the day Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth had arrived and taken her place beside the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. Sometimes, Théodred wondered whether she even realised what effect her presence had.

Hopefully, it was something that would last.

When he rode to the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall, his cousin came to meet him. Though Théodred knew Éomer was increasingly occupied by riding patrols in the eastern lands of Rohan and the Prince perceived there was something on the Marshal's mind, he still had that look on his face, the one he had more often these days: the look of a man well-loved and cared for. The Prince was fairly sure he'd always envy his cousin at least to an extent, but he was also happy for seeing some light in the life of the Marshal.

"Cousin! Welcome again. What brings you to Aldburg?" asked the younger man, smiling as Théodred dismounted and approached him.

"Just some plans for protecting our realm, but those can wait, at least until tomorrow. I hope you and your family are in good health?" asked the Prince.

"Oh, we are. In fact, we have some kin from Gondor visiting us and I'd like you to meet them", Éomer answered as they made their way inside.

"Again? Didn't Prince Imrahil visit you only a little while ago? Really, it seems like the Gondorian nobility is starting to make a home of your house!" Théodred chuckled.

"I suppose so, yes. Two cousins of my wife, Lords Boromir and Faramir have come... Boromir is on an actual errand and my wife asked her to stay for a couple of days, for he has yet a long journey ahead of him. Faramir came along, to see the Princess and our little daughter, but he won't be joining his brother for the rest of the travel", Éomer explained.

"What purpose does his travel have?" Théodred asked. He was rather surprised to hear these tidings: it had to be a very important thing if a high lord such as Boromir was the one to attend to it.

"Perhaps he would rather like to explain it to you himself", said the Marshal, and a troubled look briefly came to his face.

"Of course", Théodred answered briefly, wondering if it was a good or ill thing that had the Steward's son here... and where precisely he was heading.

He changed clothing only very quickly, as he didn't wish to make an appearance in warlike attire, and then followed his cousin to the Marshal's private chambers. Sounds of laughter carried to him from afar.

At the door of the sitting room, he stopped just to take in the sight that greeted him there.

Lady Eadmod was sat comfortably on her own chair, which had been carried here from her chamber. On the front of her, a tall man of Gondorian descent sat. He was of stern look, but now he was smiling, and the colour of his hair was some shades darker than that of his brother. By the sound of it, Eadmod was telling him the story of how Eorl the Young chose Edoras as the seat of Kings of Rohan. The other guest, so alike to the other that they could only be brothers, was speaking with Princess Lothíriel. She divided her attention between the conversation, needlework, and occasionally observing her daughter. Elfhild was resting on a thick green quilt on the floor, and Elric sat cross-legged, playing some game with the child that included a lot of smiles and quiet giggling from both participants.

It was a picture of such an inviting familial idyll that momentarily, Théodred found it hard to breathe... for it was everything he had ever dreamt of. In some ways, he had felt his family had died with his mother; Father had never quite gotten over it, and he certainly did not remarry. He had sought comfort from his many duties and along the years it had become a habit, so that the Prince had often felt very alone and neglected. And then Éomer and Éowyn had been born, and they had been like the siblings Théodred had longed for.

Over the years, he had tried to find someone to raise his own family with, but that right woman had never appeared... or, she _had _appeared eventually_, _but the one to marry her was Éomer. And now, his greatest dream and deepest regret was there on the front of him – only, it belonged to none else than his cousin.

"Prince Théodred", greeted the princess as she stood up, effectively distracting Théodred from his regretful thoughts. She was wearing that reserved face that had been there ever since that unfortunate encounter in Meduseld – something which still filled him with shame when he thought of it. She continued, "Allow me to introduce you to my cousins, Captain Boromir of the White Tower and Captain Faramir of Gondor."

The two men stood up – they were about as tall as Éomer himself, and with the three of them in the room, Théodred suddenly felt somehow diminished. Though men of the Mark were certainly not smallest of Second-born Children of Iluvatar, these three had the stature of those with blood of old Westernesse.

"It is an honour to meet you. Even here in the Riddermark, we have heard many stories of the courage of Steward Denethor's sons", said the Prince, bowing his head to the two Gondorians.

"Honour is all ours, and no lesser are the stories of the north that pass to us in Minas Tirith", said the dark-haired one. He looked slightly older, which likely made him Boromir. Théodred thought of asking what errand he was pursuing but decided that could wait for later. As soon as the introductions were properly done, he sat beside his cousin and the princess offered him a mug of ale.

It was one of the happier nights Théodred had experienced as of late. Boromir and Faramir shared stories of their way from Gondor, complete with a touch of adventure when they spoke of some orcs they had slain near the border.

"... and there we stood, both covered in grime and blood, when Marshal Éomer and his men rode to the scene... I was sure they would think us orcs or horse-thieves and were going to ride us to the ground, but fortunately he recognised us before anyone had a chance of impaling poor Faramir with a spear", Boromir finished the story of two brothers' journey to Aldburg.

"Brother, out of the two of us, _you _were the one more likely to be slain by spears", Faramir argued. "After all, I'm faster than you."

"That is true! I've seen you spar, and Faramir is the faster one", Princess Lothíriel put in.

"My lords, you may say of me what you will, but never claim that I would mistake a rider for an orc!" Éomer commented.

"Aye. We're too ugly to be orcs", Boromir laughed.

"That is quite a statement, coming from a son of Finduilas", Lothíriel snorted. "I've spent most of my life listening to love-sick ladies sigh and moan because of the two of you, and then asking if I could introduce you to them."

That made Faramir smile.

"What do you think Father would say, if both of us returned home with a Rohirric bride? It wouldn't be the first time a member of our kin found a companion for life in Rohan", he said lightly. All three Gondorians laughed at that, and Lothíriel gave her husband a small smile she probably thought only he saw. Théodred quickly turned his eyes away and sipped his ale.

"Yes, it would be rather amusing to send you home with some northern beauty", Boromir said, smiling at his brother. He glanced at the Prince and the Marshal, "Do you per chance know some unmarried lady who would be willing to wed our Faramir?"

"We could always introduce him to Lady Éowyn", said Théodred. Éomer snorted at that.

"With all due respect, Captain Faramir, I fear you would be intimidated by her. I don't think my sister is marrying kind", he said.

"Oh, Éowyn might yet surprise us all, grandson", Eadmod said then. She was wearing this serene look on her face, and Théodred did not wonder why that was. His cousin's grandmother had always loved the sound of laughter and life around her, though the fates had often taken those things from her. A sense of fondness came to him then; it was good that even now in the evening of her life, there was still this happiness in store for her.

"That she probably will", Éomer agreed. He glanced at the two Gondorian brothers then, "I beg your pardon, but how did you persuade your father to let you both go on a travel like this?"

"Well, he was not too happy to allow us both leave, as we have our duties in Gondor... but Prince Imrahil came to our aid then and helped to persuade our father. He even promised he and his son Erchirion would take care of our duties while we are on road", Faramir explained. He smiled then, and looked at Lothíriel, "Cousin, your father is quite a fox when he wants to be."

"Oh, I know that! My sister-in-law Fainien and myself used to joke sometimes that Father would be able to persuade mountains to dance if he just tried hard enough", she said, smiling as she spoke.

Conversations turned to other directions then, and the Prince moved closer to Boromir.

"I have been wondering, my lord, what precisely brings you here in Rohan? It is not the ultimate destination of your travel, is it?" he asked quietly.

"You are correct in that, my Prince", said the Gondorian captain softly. "Though I am glad to visit my cousin and her daughter, my road takes me far away from here."

"Where might that be, if I may ask?" Theódred inquired.

"It is a peculiar story, to be honest. We both – my brother and I – had this strange dream... but I now hold it was not a mere dream, but a message. I can't yet say what is the meaning of it, but it has pointed me towards west... and the ancient home of Lord Elrond in north", said Boromir, his voice turning very quiet. His brow furrowed, "I have a feeling that a great redemption or a great doom awaits at the end of this road, and so I have taken the errand to myself, though my brother would come along if I would let him. But it has already become clear that the way is dangerous."

Théodred felt suddenly troubled at the words of Steward's son. He leant closer to hear better those quiet words.

"What could possibly be of such grave consequence?" he asked.

Boromir hesitated for a moment, studying the Prince as if he were trying to read Théodred's mind. Eventually he started to speak again.

"I perceive that you are a man of good faith, and I believe I can trust you with the same tidings I have already trusted your cousin. It seems that an old evil, Isildur's Bane, has awoken – if the words of the dream are true, that is. It is a serious matter nonetheless, and perhaps Lord Elrond can give advice that is beyond our own wisdom", he said slowly. His words filled Théodred's heart with a sense of foreboding and a chill ran down his spine.

It was indeed true: in a matter such as this, there could only be great redemption or great doom... and if it was true, these years they were living were even more fateful than he had previously thought.

"Speak to none of this, my Prince. My uncle Imrahil tells me that you and your cousin are indeed worthy of trust, and I shall leave with the hope that you two shall consider this carefully, and keep it secret", Boromir said quietly, and Théodred could only nod in mute agreement.

* * *

Night had fallen and the land was quiet.

Perhaps Éomer just imagined it because of the news he had received from the sons of Denethor, but it seemed to him that a calm before storm rested not only over the Mark, but also Gondor, and all the free lands of Men.

Yet it was hard to believe that too, especially when he thought of the pleasant evening he had spent with his family and his wife's two cousins. Would the Valar truly will an end to things like this night?

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, already dreading the things that the future would bring. Isildur's Bane awoken... he knew of those stories, as he had grown up listening to Eadmod's stories. However, only time would tell what it would come to signify for the Men and all of Middle-earth.

Light steps approached from behind, and then Lothíriel wrapped her arms about him. He could almost feel her naked form through the thin fabric of her nightgown... there, in her arms, he found a bit of solace.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked softly.

"Just thinking", he answered quietly and turned around so that he could return her embrace. His wife tiptoed to kiss him and he allowed himself be lost in her affections for a moment. Her warmth, the scent of her hair... suddenly, he wondered what he would ever do without her. Éomer realised he didn't even want to know.

"Come back to sleep, husband", she said as she took his hand, and without complaint he followed her.

* * *

**A/N: **And finally, and update! I apologise for my silence of late as far as this story goes. I've been kinda busy and had some problems with this chapter, but now I've hopefully resolved them and can get to a faster updating pace again.

Few things of clarification: the wargs I wrote of in this chapter are more or less based on those creatures in the movies. As far as I understand, Tolkien did write of wargs but they were fairly different from what we see in the movies.

As for Faramir, I know his presence in Aldburg is not canon. When Boromir left to seek for Rivendell (and ultimately, join the Fellowship), he made the journey alone. But shis is an alteration caused by Lothíriel's presence in Aldburg at this time, as I'd think he would like to see his cousin again.

As usual, thank you for reading and reviewing! All comments are appreciated!

* * *

**Sandy-wmd - **It seems to me that she might already be understanding that too. But we'll see how tha turns out!

**countess grazinsky - **Thank you for your kind words!

I see where you're coming from with your thoughts considering their relationship. I must say, it's in great part because so far neither of them have really been able to make sense of their own feelings when it comes to each other. But I hope that perhaps in this chapter I have been able to show how they are starting little by little to come to terms with each other, and perhaps understand their own emotions better.

**Talia119 - **I do think Imrahil has more or less seen that by now! :)

**isaboo - **Yes, beta might do me good as English is not my first language - there's bound to be grammar mistakes and misunderstandings every now and then... thanks for pointing out my mistake with that word. I will try to avoid it in he future!

**LittleNK - **I would be a bad writer if I answered that now, would I? :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"... that is good, Elric. Observe your surroundings! And your footwork! Never neglect your footwork..." Boromir instructed the young Rohir, who looked like he was having the time of his life. Well, how often does a boy get to spar with a famed war hero like Captain Boromir?

It was the day after two sons of Denethor had arrived to Aldburg. Though Boromir was eager to continue his journey, Lothíriel had insisted he stay for few days to rest and gather strength for the long road he still had ahead of him. Eventually her cousin had agreed, though the princess wondered if that had anything to do with the persuasive skills of Faramir.

"Your brother is rather good with children", she commented to the younger of her two cousins, who was observing the practice beside her.

"That he is", Faramir agreed. "So good, as a matter of fact, that one wonders why he hasn't taken up the task of producing some children of his own. Father at least would love it."

Lothíriel glanced at him and took note of a slightly troubled look on his face. It was not too hard to guess what was going on in his mind.

"Perhaps the right woman has not just come yet", she offered.

"Maybe", he said quietly, "but if I should say why that really is, Boromir probably thinks it would be a cruelty to have children when the world is... the way it is."

That made Lothíriel shiver as she considered the implications. She thought of her own daughter and bit her lip. Was it really a cruelty to produce offspring into this world?

Faramir appeared to sense what she was thinking, for he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be troubled, cousin. Just because Boromir thinks like that doesn't mean it's true", he said softly. "There is always hope."

"Of course", said the princess and offered him a smile.

He looked like he would have said something more, but then Elric came running at them; the sparring session appeared to be over already. The boy was grinning happily and his eyes shone with excitement.

"Well, how was it?" Lothíriel asked.

"It was wonderful, my lady!" Elric exclaimed. "Captain Boromir showed me some really great tricks, and he's so fast – I wonder if he could beat Father? Do you think he'd have time to spar with the Captain?"

"Now, don't get too excited. Your father is far too busy at the moment", she said, briefly resting her hand on the boy's shoulder.

"But wouldn't it be exciting, Princess?" insisted the young Rohir.

"I suppose it would be. Go and get washed up. Prince Théodred is joining us for a dinner", she instructed her husband's son. Lately, her attempts to bring a tradition of a family dinner into this household seemed successful, and even Elric had not yet grown tired of the level of cleanliness she required. The boy remained, as ever, willing to do anything at all to win her good favour.

Prince Théodred was one participant she was not so eager to see, but he _was _family after all and it would have been rude not to invite him too. At least the man kept his distance these days.

Elric ran along, and Boromir approached his cousin and brother.

"Quite a lion cub you have growing there. He's going to be a fierce one", commented the captain.

"Takes after his father", Lothíriel answered, smiling absent-mindedly.

"You don't mind?" Faramir asked softly. His brother gave him a doubtful look.

"Mind what?" asked the princess back and looked at him inquiringly.

"Well, him. Your husband's son", said her cousin more than just a little awkwardly.

"You people are never going to stop asking me that, will you?" she muttered. "It's fine. Really, it is. I thought Erchirion had already explained that to everyone back home."

"He's a good lad, no matter what is the origin of his birth", Boromir said. "And if you ask my honest opinion, any man could be proud to call him son."

Lothíriel gave him a thankful look; it was refreshing to meet such an approach. He smiled silently as an answer. As for Faramir, he seemed to understand this topic was not worth pursuing.

"Tell me at least if you think Boromir could beat that husband of yours, like young Elric wondered", he said in a lighter tone. At that, she couldn't help but grin.

"Never in your wildest dreams", she informed the two brothers, smiled sweetly at them, and made her way inside.

* * *

Much of Éomer's morning was spent in sharing tidings and making plans with his cousin. Théodred seemed ever more troubled: his father's health was becoming more delicate and he listened little even to his own son.

"I have increased patrols", said the Prince, "but it does not seem like it does any good. My men are seeing more of wargs, and Isengard... a shadow has fallen there, and it seems to me that Saruman's friendship has grown cold... the last time I saw the White Wizard, it was not wisdom I perceived in his words. And there are some even darker words brought to me."

"What could be darker than all these ill tidings? If Isengard has become something else than a friend, then I fear for all of the Mark", Éomer muttered, his heart turning heavy.

"My scouts speak of Riders, robed in black and bringing shadow and dread where they go. At first it sounded like those scouts had seen some waking nightmare, as I have seen no such riders myself. But some herders who sometimes go to the Wold report to have seen these strangers too", Théodred said quietly. There was a frown on his face, and it must have reflected the one on Éomer's own face.

"Do you think they mean evil? Should these riders be sought and driven out of our land?" he asked.

"I can't say what they mean, but surely it can't be anything good. And to drive them away – if they could be found, that is – would require the King's decree", said his cousin and sighed. "And like I told you, he doesn't really pay much heed even to my words now."

That was certainly worrisome. Through these years of ailing, Théoden King had always at least listened to Théodred his son. But if even the Prince's word bore no meaning to the King now, then Éomer could not but fear what would come out of it.

"Perhaps we should look into these riders – and whether they're some new scheme of Saruman's. I don't like it, that strangers such as these riders travel our lands unchecked", he said quietly.

"I don't like it either, cousin. I promise I will investigate this matter presently. As for you, I would advise you to go and take your family to Edoras as often as you bear to do that. Your daughter seemed to have such a good influence on Father. Perhaps she might still reach him", Théodred said, his voice grave.

"Let us hope so", answered the Marshal, hoping that his cousin had the right of it.

* * *

With all of them gathered around the table, it did feel rather crowded. Denethor's sons were not small men and nor were the Marshal or the Prince; with Théodred, it was a bit easier to forget with the other three men in the chamber.

The atmosphere was nice and comfortable, though. The men were exchanging old war stories, to which Elric of course listened to with such enthusiasm that Lothíriel had to remind him to eat few times. She was mostly occupied by observing that there was enough of everything and also feeding little Elfhild. For herself she had barely time for a bite or two, but that she could see to later. Nevertheless, it would be a relief when Elfhild would learn to eat by herself.

As if he somehow knew of these thoughts, her husband at some point straightened up on his seat and cast a sharp look at her. He said: "Wife, have you had time to eat anything yourself?"

Her cousins turned to look at her too, which nearly had the princess blushing.

"I'll eat something once I've fed the little one", she said quickly.

"Nonsense. I'm just as capable of doing that as you are", he informed her. Éomer stood up and made his way around the table to her. "Eat, _déor min. _I'll feed her."

The fact that he was apparently completely comfortable doing that on the front of her cousins and the Prince, and also for the sake of nattering he'd keep up later, Lothíriel decided to give in.

"Of course, lord husband", she said. She stood up from her place, which he claimed, and she went on to sit down on the spot he had just left.

"You're still so sure he'd beat me?" Boromir asked, amusement glinting in his eyes. That made Éomer look up quizzically.

"Elric was just wondering earlier how a fight between you, my lord, and my brother would turn out", Faramir explained. "Your wife maintains that you'd beat him."

The Marshal merely snorted as an answer and offered his daughter a spoonful of gruel, but to Lothíriel it looked a lot like he was fighting a smile.

"So you believe taking care of a baby has a damaging effect on man's swordsmanship?" Théodred asked Boromir. "Of course I can only speak for my cousin, as I have not seen my lord Captain in a battle, but I reckon it would be a close fight."

"I am almost tempted to challenge the Marshal to sort this out", Boromir commented.

"It will only end with me wiping your bloodied noses and telling you to go to your rooms to think about what you have done", said the princess, and her words seemed to immensely amuse all present. This brought out several more light remarks, but atmosphere turned more solemn when Éomer addressed to Boromir again.

"You still have a long way ahead of you, my lord, and I suspect it's not going to be the without dangers. I would send couple of riders with you, if you so want. After all, we are kin now", said the Marshal carefully. Faramir quickly turned to look at his brother, no doubt hoping that Boromir might accept the offer of help.

"I appreciate the offer, Lord Marshal, but I fear I can't put this task on any other shoulders than my own. And I feel your men are more needed here in Rohan than aiding me on my quest", Boromir said at length.

"But it would be safer if you didn't have to go alone", Lothírel tried. She too felt concerned for how her cousin's trip might turn out if he went all alone.

"Dearest cousin, the safest option for all would be if I didn't go at all", he answered, not ungently. However, she sensed he would not listen to objections in this matter.

"You should let me come along at least", Faramir said then. "The dreams were sent to us both, after all."

"Brother, you know full well that Father would never allow it. You must return home when I go on my way", Boromir told him firmly.

"I'm sure Lord Boromir is quite capable of taking care of himself. We all must trust him in this matter", Théodred said then as in an attempt to close an obviously uncomfortable topic, but it was really Elric who turned the conversation light again.

"I could go! I would love to fight orcs and see elves. Grandmother is always telling these amazing stories about them. Have you seen any elves, Lord Faramir?" he asked the younger of two Gondorians.

"Sadly, no. It's rare to see their kind in the lands of men these days", said Faramir.

From there, conversation moved over to the matter of First-born, and Faramir recited them some of the stories he had read from his books. Elric, Éomer and Prince Théodred all listened with apparent interest, for in their land elves and their great deeds of yore were a tale only half-remembered even by those who recalled things beyond the Third Age.

Boromir took that moment to turn towards Lothíriel. When he spoke, he smiled, "You have found yourself a wonderful life here, cousin."

"It's not so bad", she said nonchalantly. He looked at Elfhild then; Éomer had finished feeding the child and had lifted her on his knee. The little one's eyelids were already drooping and she'd probably pass out some time soon.

"Yes. It makes a hopeful picture, really..." said Boromir softly. "I hope that whatever I find in Rivendell will be of help, and this little family of yours can stay safe."

She rested a hand on his arm then, trying for courage. But inside, she trembled.

To lose her child, or her husband...

Perhaps he knew what she was thinking, for a gentle smile came to his face.

"Don't be restless, Lothíriel. Light has not gone out quite yet", he told her. "Never give up."

"Never", she agreed softly and hoped she could have been just as brave as her famed cousin.

* * *

Her husband entering their bedchamber distracted Lothíriel from her thoughts; she had been watching Elfhild, who was fast asleep and ignorant of all the cares of the world.

"Is something wrong?" Éomer asked as he settled down on his side of the bed. When she moved towards him, he spread one arm, and she crawled there next to him.

"Not really", she answered after settling down. It was not easy to concentrate on her concerns anyway when his arm was about her and she felt safe. "I'm just worried, I suppose... about Boromir, I mean. And..."

"And what?" he asked, running his fingers up and down her arm.

"Losing Elfhild. And you", Lothíriel mumbled into his chest.

He was silent for a moment, but then he gently lifted her face so that he could kiss her. It was slow and calming kind, and she felt a bit better when it ended.

"Trust me, _déor min. _I'll keep us all safe", he promised her. She hemmed softly as an answer and lay quiet for a while, fingering the front of his tunic absent-mindedly. Ever since she had persuaded (or forced) him to renew his wardrobe, he had started to look rather nice whenever he wasn't armoured.

"You know", she spoke then, "it's not really so bad as I first thought. Marriage, I mean."

"You think so?" he asked; the colour of his voice did not reveal what he thought of her words.

"Yes. I feel silly when I think back and remember how concerned I was", she told her husband.

"I was concerned too, wife. I thought I was too uncivilised for you, and that you would hate living here in Aldburg", he confessed, his voice quiet. She held on tighter to him then.

"In that case, imagine how it would have been if we had just been honest right from the beginning. I... I didn't expect that you would be just as worried about this as myself", Lothíriel said thoughtfully. "And just so you know, I don't hate living here. It's different than my life back in Dol Amroth, of course... but these days, if I stop and try to think of how it would be if I had never married you... I can't imagine it, really."

"I can't imagine a life without you either, my dearest princess", he told her.

She smiled and lifted her face to kiss him, and that could have turned into something very nice had Elfhild not chosen that moment to wake up and cry out. Lothíriel was about to get up but Éomer gently pushed her down.

"I'll take care of her. You rest, wife", he said and got up.

She watched him lift up their daughter, and talk to her in quiet Rohirric. In his lap, Elfhild somehow looked even smaller than she was. He lifted her against his shoulder and hummed softly, which calmed her down quickly.

There, in the sight of Éomer singing to their child, Lothíriel rested her heart and allowed herself to believe all would be well.

* * *

Boromir departed the next morning, riding away with Prince Théodred's men. He'd keep the company of the Crown Prince as far as Helm's Deep, and from there, he would travel all alone. He reassured his brother and cousin many times that it would be fine, and he'd return soon. Then he mounted his horse and rode away with the Prince's company, and Lothíriel wondered if she'd ever see her cousin again.

Faramir too set for his own travel. Though Lothíriel had hoped he might stay for a little while more, she knew he had to go. It was not only because of his many duties back in Gondor, but also because it had to be painful to watch his brother go and ride towards an uncertain fate.

In Aldburg, things proceeded as they may. Marshal Éomer was busy as ever with guarding the eastern marches of the realm, but though news came of strange folk at borders and even in the kingdom itself, and of darker folk too, he always returned safe and sound to his family.

As the year grew older, Elfhild grew too. Her hair remained flaxen but her eyes assumed a bit deeper shade than before. She was a healthy child and taking care of her was mostly untroublesome. Lothíriel even found it fascinating to observe how the little one grew and learned new things, and how her cooing and babbling filled the chambers. Elric was enthusiastically trying to teach the girl his own name, though the princess tried to remind him it would be a while still before Elfhild could talk.

Elric continued to show unending interest on his little half-sister. Indeed, it seemed that he would have wanted as many brothers and sisters as possible. One evening, he even asked, "Are you going to have more children?"

At that, Lothíriel exchanged a dubious look with her husband, who had been in the middle of carving some wooden toys for their daughter. They had not really talked about it, but she knew he at least would have been very happy to have more children.

"I... maybe we will", she answered at length. Éomer had lowered his eyes back to his handiwork and his face did not reveal his thoughts.

"That would be nice", Elric said and offered Elfhild a toy which had fallen from her hand. "I like her very much, but I'd love to have a brother too."

"Of course", said the princess to that. She very much knew she still had to produce her husband with a son and an heir to the line of Lords of Aldburg. Though she had already gone through one pregnancy and more or less knew what it was precisely, she still wasn't so sure if she liked the idea of more offspring.

That conversation remained undecided for the moment and was effectively forgotten as some more serious developments arose.

* * *

When Éomer saw the arched figure of Ethelgifu, he felt that familiar sense of uneasiness this woman always caused in him. Contact with her had only ever provided him with words that troubled him, and he had never quite forgotten her prediction that his parents would die. Sometimes, he had wondered what would have happened if he had told his father about it... if Ethelgifu's words could somehow have saved them.

Now, as she appeared on the front of his horse, he felt that same dreadful feeling; though the last words from her that had somehow concerned him had been of a queer sort and named Lothíriel a queen, he couldn't help but expect only the worst kind of tidings from this seer. Yet, though he wanted to urge his horse and ride fast as if he could that way escape the future too, he halted and looked down at her.

"What is it, mistress?" he asked warily.

Ethelgifu rested a gnarled hand on Firefoot's neck. She looked up at the Marshal, and it seemed to him that her eyes were endless.

"When the swan prince comes", she said, so softly that he almost didn't hear her, "do not let him leave."

Knowing it was useless to ask her what she meant precisely – though he had a feeling these words were clearer than many other things she said – Éomer did not ask her to elaborate. He just nodded.

"My thanks, mistress Ethelgifu", he said, and something like a smile touched her mutilated face. She turned and left, and he thought of what she had said all the way back to Aldburg.

* * *

Frost came early and bitter that year, laying waste to crops all over the realm. Not all was lost but a substantial amount was ruined nonetheless, predicting a hungry winter for the people of Rohan. Then, as if trouble was attracting even more of its kind, reports of fierce orc raids came from the eastern parts: they had killed and stolen cattle from those nomadic herders that occupied the wilder parts of the Mark. Roads were unsafe as ever and the prospect of winter did not look too good.

The people of Aldburg would probably survive well, better than many other parts of the kingdom. For one, night frosts had not ravaged the crops there so badly. But that was a small comfort with the knowledge of all the people who might not survive the winter.

It was an exceptionally busy time for Éomer. Trying to salvage what he could, his days were mostly spent running and riding from one place to another. He even chased after the orcs who had attacked the herders, but the villainous creatures had already left the realm and returned to their own dark land. It filled the Marshal with angry frustration and Lothíriel hoped desperately she could somehow have made it better. All she could was try to support her husband.

That was what she hoped to do on one evening of late autumn as she entered the study that belonged to her husband. He had been locked inside ever since he had returned on that same day from a lengthy ride to the eastern parts. As far as she could tell, he was trying to come up with a way to fend for the people during the winter to come.

Indeed, he was more or less crouched over many pieces of paper and was scribbling something, but his features, though stern, conveyed extreme weariness. And that was no wonder as there had been so little rest lately.

"Any progress?" she asked softly as she stopped behind his chair and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"None whatsoever", he muttered tiredly. "I have no idea of how to fix this."

She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and kissed the top of his head.

"Of course you don't – you're too tired to think of troubles so large", she told him. "You should rest, husband. Perhaps you'll think of something once you've had proper sleep and a meal."

He leant his head back against her form and let out a long, heavy sigh. Strength seemed to leave his body, and he seemed so tired... only then did she understand what a burden he carried on his shoulders, and Lothíriel felt intense distress for not knowing how to help him.

"What am I going to do, Lothíriel? All these people rely on me, and I would help them, if I only knew how... I can't just watch them suffer and die", Éomer said quietly, staring down at his hands.

She bit her lip as she thought of the situation, hoping to see a way to help him and thus help his people... her people. Suddenly, she wished her father could be here. He'd know what to do, like he always did.

But then, thinking of him brought an idea to her.

"Husband, do you still have any of my dowry left?" she asked. He looked up at her and a light appeared in his eyes.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I've been saving it for a rainy day", he said.

"Then perhaps this is that rainy day, Éomer. We could send messengers to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth, ask if they have any spare grain to sell us. Perhaps buy some cattle, too. I'm sure my father will help us, if I just ask him", Lothíriel said, feeling more enthusiastic with every word that she spoke. He looked like he felt the same, for his features that had been so tired and hopeless were not lighting up with renewed hope.

"That is a wonderful idea, _déor min. _I should have thought of that", he said. She giggled and leant down to kiss him.

"Éomer, that is why you have me. And anyway, you're too tired to come up with original ideas now", she said. Then she patted his shoulder. "Now, my last advice for the day is that you come and have something to eat, and in the morning we'll send messages to Gondor, and to my father."

He got up and kissed her for a long while. Then, after the kiss had ended and he had taken one moment more to rest his cheek against her hair, he sighed, "Hmm. I wonder what I would do without you, wife..."

"You would pass out because of hunger and exhaustion", she told him. He snorted, but followed her to their chambers nonetheless.

* * *

On the morrow, Lothíriel wrote a letter for her father herself, asking for his help. She felt that a letter in her own hand would be a good idea, as she hoped it would motivate him to take up the matter and send grain and livestock to the suffering people of the Mark. She didn't have such great hopes for the letter that was sent to Lord Denethor, but perhaps Faramir could be of help.

As soon as the messages were ready, Éomer picked one of his faster riders and sent him on way, and the Lord and Lady of Aldburg watched as Salufox sped over the plains and his riding shape became smaller and smaller. Their hope, and that of many other people, lay with him now.

The autumn grew and with it, the concern in Lothíriel's heart and in that of her husband. Every day that passed without a word from Gondor seemed long and anxious, and endlessly the princess wondered to herself if something so ill had happened in south that her father couldn't possibly send any help.

But then in the middle of September, Salufox rode back with a word from Prince Imrahil. As Lothíriel read the letter her father had sent, her anxiety turned into relief: he would attend to the matter presently and see what he could do, and send one of her brothers to oversee that all the provisions would get safely to Aldburg. As soon as she had read these words, she threw her arms about the neck of her husband and hugged him in enthusiasm. He was happy too, and smiled like only a man relieved of a great burden would smile.

And, odd as it was, Lothíriel understood this was precisely what Aredhel had been talking about on that day she had first heard she would marry the Third Marshal of the Mark.

Had she not found herself so content with the man she had wedded, this moment she would have at least felt the surety of one who has made the right choice.

As she embraced her husband, he let out a long sigh that seemed to release some of his tension as well.

"Thank you, wife", he said softly.

"Don't thank me, husband. Thank my father for his help", she told him as she pulled back so that she could see him. A crooked little smile came to his face.

"How would I ever have asked for his aid if you were not here? And anyway, you were the one to write to him and to think of doing it in the first place", he reminded her.

"I just wanted to help you, and all those people who would suffer otherwise", she said softly.

"And they will bless your name for it, _déor min"_, said Éomer softly. Then he picked her up and twirled her around, and they both laughed. For a while, concerns were far away, and she felt her heart fill with hope and faith.

* * *

A word came from Aldburg to inform the King that all things were under control again: the Marshal reported that the matter of feeding the small folk during the winter had been solved, and things looked as hopeful as possible in this situation was for the people of eastern parts of the realm.

When Gríma son of Gálmód heard of this, he was dismayed. In silent delight he had received news of the peril in the kingdom, as famine would also mean that the Eorlingas would also be weaker when the moment of reckoning came. If they were weak with hunger, they would not be able to fight and endure. Western parts, those under the guard of Prince Théodred, might not do as well, but it was quite not enough.

He bit back his scowl of disappointment and concentrated on the more urgent matter on just how the Marshal had been able to solve the troubles.

So, before the messenger could leave, he stopped the man for some questions.

"Do tell me, how was the Marshal able to avoid the imminent catastrophe? Where did he suddenly get enough food to feed the people?" he asked; his voice was that of a concerned civilian.

The messenger smiled.

"With the help of his wife, of course. She wrote to her father Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth to inquire if his merchants had any spare grain and livestock to sell. It turned out that they indeed did have enough provisions for the Marshal to purchase. Essentially, he's feeding the people with the help of gold from his own purse – something which he will be well-remembered for, I think", said the rider.

_The Gondorian wench. Of course. _

Gríma dismissed the man and thought of the matter, his mood turning blacker by the second.

The little princess was proving to be even more of an annoyance than he had expected. Not only was she giving her damned husband children with the blood of Eorl, but now she was also meddling with the matters of the realm. Oh, if he only could go back in time, and somehow prevent her arrival to Rohan altogether!

But then... as annoying as she was, perhaps she could be of use. _Yes. _She could prove very helpful...

As Gríma thought of it, a plan began to form in his mind, and the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. He allowed himself a brief little smile, though it was perhaps too soon to celebrate anything.

First, he would have to learn more of this princess...

* * *

The brisk, fresh air of September morning felt good as Lothíriel strolled out in the courtyard with Scýne by her side. The red-haired woman's little son, who had learned to walk not too long ago, was waddling before them, and Lothíriel herself carried her daughter inside a scarf against her breast. Evidently Rohirric women often carried their infants in a scarf, freeing their hands but allowing to keep the child close. Granted, Elfhild was growing larger these days and she wondered if she'd be able to carry her daughter so easily for much longer.

"Is something bothering you, Lothíriel?" asked Scýne after a while; she had eventually managed to persuade her friend drop the "my ladies" and "princesses", as those had become somewhat exhaustive.

"How so?" Lothíriel asked back.

"You looked so far away", Scýne said, turning to look at her son again.

"I just thought of my cousins. I wonder if Boromir has already found what he was looking for", answered the princess softly. She thought of the morning her cousin had departed, how she had hugged him for a long time and held back her tears. Many times since then, she had tried to remind herself he was a great warrior, and could take care of himself better than many a man.

"I'm sure he will be fine", said her friend gently.

"Yes", Lothíriel said, sighing to herself. "At least I should see one of my brothers some time soon. It'll be nice, and perhaps my lord husband will rest easier once the provisions arrive."

Scýne smiled at that.

"It is an act you can be proud of, my friend", she said, at which Lothíriel shrugged awkwardly.

"It was the right thing to do", she answered. Scýne looked like she would have said something more, but then their way was cut; there, on the front of them, Dreda stood.

The princess had not known the Rohir woman had returned Aldburg, so her initial reaction was surprise. It only deepened when she saw the look on Dreda's face. She did not seem too hostile. In fact, she looked like she was trying to smile.

Lothíriel exchanged a confused look with Scýne, but her friend looked just as taken aback.

"My lady", spoke Dreda then. She had a full voice, and low and husky for a woman. "I would like to speak with you, if it please you."

The princess blinked and felt at a loss what to do before she could speak again.

"Of course", she said, and Scýne took leave with her son, to give the two some privacy. Elfhild had fallen asleep against the chest of her mother, which was probably good. Dreda didn't likely need any reminders of her misfortune.

"Is something amiss?" she asked carefully when Scýne had gone and she was left alone with Dreda.

"No, not at all", said the other woman. Her face was solemn and eyes pensive, and it was hard to say what was going in her mind at the moment. "I merely wished to... to apologise for my behaviour so far. It has been most unwelcoming, my lady."

At that, Lothíriel blinked again. Well, this was certainly an unexpected development... but then, perhaps it was a good thing. Perhaps it meant there would be no more hostility left in this household.

"I... it's all right. I do understand your position, and I know I must have seemed like an intruder to you. Believe me, this was not something I chose by myself", she said tentatively. It would probably be for the best to leave behind what bad blood there had been between them, though she also knew she could have had her revenge now, if she wanted. But that was not how her mother had brought her up, and so she offered the Rohir woman a friendly little smile.

"Of course. They told me it was an arranged marriage", Dreda said, looking away.

"That it was", Lothíriel said softly. She decided not to point out it had turned out better than she had expected; Dreda would probably have considered that an insult added to the injury.

She then continued, "I am sorry as well. It was not my intention to cause pain to anyone. I... I did not even know of you before I came here."

That caused Dreda's expression to twitch in a way that made Lothíriel worry whether she had said something hurtful. But the sudden change in the other woman's face quickly disappeared.

"Aye", she said, her voice quiet and colourless. "I understand."

"I'm glad to hear that. I would not wish any ill feelings to remain between us", said the princess, at which Dreda nodded silently. Then the Rohir woman looked at her again.

"My lady, I would just wish for you to take care of him for me", she said, trying hard to conceal her pain but not quite succeeding. Lothíriel gave her what she hoped was a comforting smile.

"Of course. I will do my best", she promised. Then, thinking it best to change the topic and perhaps to try and be welcoming, she asked, "Have you returned to Aldburg for good?"

"No, Lady Princess. I just came to visit some friends, but I will be returning to Edoras soon. Master Wulfric apparently has grown to like my presence, and has asked me to stay", Dreda answered.

"That sounds good. I'm happy for you", said Lothíriel. A sense of relief came to her as she thought of this. Perhaps, when she was away from Aldburg, Dreda would find a new way for her life.

"Thank you", said the golden-haired woman and nodded to the princess. She excused herself then, and the princess made her way back inside with a lighter heart.

* * *

On a late October night, Amrothos and fourteen Swan Knights arrived with the grain and livestock which Prince Imrahil had acquired; though the journey had evidently been wet and windy, the grain had been well-covered and packed upon their departure from Minas Tirith, and the cattle too would fare just well as soon as the animals would reach their destination. With the arrival of such provisions, a hopeful mood replaced the heavy sense of foreboding that had hovered over the town.

Lothíriel herself threw her arms about the neck of her brother and held him tight, mumbling her thanks in a half-coherent litany. Amrothos just grinned, and said: "It was your idea in the first place. I just saw it done, dear sister."

Éomer too gave his quiet but heartfelt thanks, and bid the prince welcome to stay as long as he wished. Indeed, Prince Imrahil had instructed Amrothos to stay as long as it took to distribute the goods to the people. Lothíriel was happy of course, and so was her husband... but that was also for a more practical reason, which was discussed between the two men on an evening three days after Amrothos' arrival.

It was after the supper, when Lothíriel was busy bathing Elfhild and putting the child to sleep, and the men had gone out for a quiet stroll before retiring.

"You have been of great aid to us already", said the Marshal as they strode outside, "and the goods you have brought should help us get through the winter. Still... I have been wondering if I could ask even more of you."

"What is it, brother? We're family now, after all. You can ask anything", said the prince, smiling warmly at his brother-in-law. The Rohir looked at him warily and sighed.

"I am concerned, Amrothos. Tidings from Edoras turn more unsettling with each passing day, and I fear what future has in store for us. I won't lie: I fear for my family, your sister and your niece, and that I can't keep them safe. I do my best, but..."

"But these are times when one's best might not be enough", Amrothos said softly. His features, usually so cheerful and carefree, were troubled.

"Aye", said the Marshal. He hesitated for a moment but then he decided honesty was for the best. So he continued, "You will likely think me odd or even mad for listening to such words, but someone told me that you would come soon, way before I knew that one of my wife's brothers would arrive here in Rohan."

The prince turned to him, wearing a surprised look on his face.

"What do you mean precisely?" he asked. Éomer weighed his words, trying to come up with something that would not make him sound like a superstitious fool.

His parents _had _died, and the swan prince _had _come – when he had heard that one of Imrahil's sons would oversee the transport of livestock and grain, he had instantly understood what Ethelgifu had meant; for swan was the symbol of princes of Dol Amroth. And as far as he knew, Ethelgifu had never given more than one of her sights to one person. It was obviously important. Amrothos could not leave.

"There is a woman in Edoras", said Éomer reluctantly. Whatever he did, he would not lie. "Years ago, she told me my parents would die soon, and die they did. This autumn, she said you would come and that I should not let you go."

"You mean she's a seer?" Amrothos asked slowly.

"Some think so, yes", Éomer allowed. He did not dare face his brother-in-law's face. He'd no doubt see only ridicule on those features.

"You think so too, don't you?" asked the prince, and quietly the Marshal nodded. Amrothos was silent for a moment before he continued, "And you think what she said has something to do with Lothíriel."

"I'm not sure, but I have a feeling it might concern her", Éomer said. He ground his teeth as a sudden feeling of frustration came to him. He wanted to explain how worried he was, and how scared he was of losing his little family. He had had them for such a small amount of time, and if he knew something it was how cruel the fates could be... how easily they could take away this small measure of peace.

"To speak truthfully, I'm not sure what I think of this woman who told you I would come", Amrothos said at length, "but I can see how very worried you are, and that you genuinely fear for Lothíriel and little Elfhild. I can't say I know you as well as I would like to, but in my heart I feel that if you are so unsettled, then it must be for a good reason."

The Rohir lifted his eyes to look at the prince then. A small smile came to his face, and Amrothos patted Éomer's arm.

"If that is what you wish, I will stay here for a while. I trust your instinct, and Lothíriel and Elfhild's safety is as important to me as it is to you", he promised.

He could not tell why this was so important, but when he heard Amrothos' words, Éomer felt some of the tightness in his heart give in.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this is going a bit slow at the moment, but I can tell you I'm just gathering momentum right now. Also my updating speed is not quite the same as before, which is because of couple of things actually. I continue to be kind of busy and this summer time apparently is not so good for my muse. Or, my muse is distracted by other things. Yet another story is already brewing in my mind and I have to constantly restrain myself not to start working on it beyond making notes and outlines.

I have some really busy weeks ahead of me, so I'm not sure I'll have much time for writing and editing. As such the next update may not come in few weeks. I'll try to work on it as often as I can, but I must ask for your patience for now.

Why Amrothos agrees to stay so readily will hopefully be elaborated in the next chapter

As always, thanks for reading reviewing!

* * *

**Rosie - **His actions have certainly not been of the best kind, but more than hate him I feel sorry for him. I don't think it's an easy place for him, not really. He's pretty ashamed for it too, and tries to make up in any way he can - as was seen in the last chapter when he spoke with Théoden and did his best to prevent Wormtongue's mutterings. In this piece, I see him as a troubled person.

**Sandy-wmd - **I went back to the writing and noticed them too. Kind of embarrassing mistakes, considering they're basic English! But I'm glad if they don't bother you that much.

**Talia119 - **Thanks for your comments! I fear I can't answer right away as to the future developments. All will be revealed in time.

Théodred's feelings certainly tie in with his belief that he will die soon. He tries not to think of it too much but I'd say it's growing on him.

**SymphonicPoem - **I'd imagine both Lothíriel and Théodred would dread telling Éomer about that scene. The man is rather famous for his temper. As for Dreda, wait and see!

**Jackie **- We certainly are getting nearer to that now!

**queenyuks - **I'm fairly sure Tolkien never wrote about the possibility of assassination. At least I can't ever remember anything like that in the books or in the movies. This is of course just my interpretation of Tolkien's works and characters, but I believe Éomer and Théodred both would deem assassination a shameful and cowardly action. Rohirrim are described as honest, straightforward people, and Éomer in particular is mentioned as a man of honour and valour. Personally I think it would be out of character for him to even consider a murder in secrecy. He simply isn't the kind of man to participate in that kind of intrigue and use a knife in the dark. Not much is known of Théodred's personality, but if he's anything like his father Théoden, I'm inclined to believe in this matter he would be same as Éomer. Altogether Rohirric society seems to me the kind that isn't big on scheming and intrigue that involve political murders.

If anyone would consider assassinations in Rohan, that would be Gríma himself. Speaking of him, he has probably surrounded himself with guards and protection so that even if Éomer and Théodred were the kind of men to try to assassinate anyone they would probably not succeed.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

When Amrothos said he would be staying for a while in Aldburg, Lothíriel squealed in enthusiasm and hugged her brother tight. As ever, it was good to have her Gondorian kin close to her... and altogether it seemed to her that the presence of her brother and his Swan Knights was not at all a bad thing for Aldburg. They were more than happy to compensate for their upkeep, and so helped in the guard duties of the town. Lothíriel overheard her husband explaining to Amrothos that he'd have taken them along on patrols too, but according to him some sharp tongues could have called that a Gondorian attempt to usurp power in Rohan.

But a good thing it was, that the Swan Knights were in town and aiding with guarding Aldburg, for the Marshal's riders were ever more needed in the eastern lands, and distressed reports of many fell things seemed to come each day. Dark mutterings reached Lothíriel's ears too: in growing concern she listened to whispers of Isengard, of spies lurking everywhere, and of orcs that came and disappeared so quickly that they could not be of Mordor. In this situation it was easy to become suspicious of one's shadow even, and she was intensely grateful for the presence of her brother. In Amrothos' dauntless spirits there seemed to be a reassurance that things would turn out well in the end, somehow... even on that day her husband returned injured from his ride to the east.

It was two weeks after Amrothos' arrival. The Marshal and his men had gone hunting for some orcs, and as usual these days, Lothíriel had sent him on his way with a troubled heart. When the riders returned, it was raining, and they were a miserable looking lot: wet and exhausted and some of them injured. As she had been busy arranging bath water to be heated and supper made, she arrived to the scene when three men were trying to get Éomer down from his saddle. He had taken an arrow to his left thigh some inches above knee, which made the task difficult and painful. He was already pale and grimacing in discomfort.

"My lord!" Lothíriel exclaimed in concern as she quickly dashed to him, not even noticing the rain that was turning into a proper downpour.

"Just an arrow. It's nothing serious", he tried to calm her, but let out a grunt of pain when he was finally lowered down. Éothain quickly wrapped an arm under his shoulders so that he wouldn't have to lay weight on his injured leg. Indeed, a stubbed shaft of an arrow stuck out of his thigh, just from that spot his leaf-mail did not cover when he rode, and waiting for the care of a healer. Apparently the wound was not bleeding at the moment, as he was not looking faint.

A part of her would have panicked right there and then, but she forced that aside and tried to summon her more practical side. So she hurried to the other side of her husband, to help Éothain get him inside. To her relief she saw Bierwen had already taken things under control to look after the injured men.

"What happened, my lord?" she asked when they slowly made their way inside; her husband's progression was sluggish and clumsy with his injured leg. The arrow must have gone deep to cause such agony.

"We were ambushed by a pack of orcs. They lay in wait behind hills and were upon us before we even knew it. But we defeated them in the end – though not without a cost", answered Éothain, as Éomer himself was mostly concentrated on trying to stay upright and walk.

Amrothos hurried to the scene then, armoured and looking a lot like he had rolled around in mud.

"Sister! There you are. I was just-" he began, but then took note of the Marshal's state. "My lord! You're injured!"

"I'm fine", grumbled Éomer, though it looked like a grimace had permanently settled on his face.

"Lothíriel, let me help you. Maybe you could go and call a healer?" Amrothos suggested, and as he was stronger than her, she reluctantly gave up her place by the side of her husband.

It took a while for them to get the injured Marshal into his chambers, and then rid him of his armour. By the time he was lying down, the healer finally came. At that time Lothíriel had already positioned herself beside her husband, who looked paler and more in pain than before. This was quite likely in no small part because of the bruising about his chest and torso; as soon as she had seen them, Lothíriel had cast a very alarmed look at Éothain. But the captain had given her a pointed look and she had understood all would be explained afterwards.

Though it was rather clear he was in pain, her husband managed to give her a smile.

"You don't have to stay with me, wife", he said, but she grabbed his hand and held on tight.

"Stop being absurd. I'm not going anywhere, not now", she informed him briskly. She thought she saw something thankful about his face, but then Master Ferdbrego started his work. He probed about the Marshal's ribcage to see if any bones were misplaced, which apparently did not feel too good. Éomer ground his teeth and closed his eyes, and Lothíriel held his hand a bit tighter.

"Your ribs seem to be intact, my lord", Ferdbrego said at last. "The bruising will heal quickly enough, though I do not suppose it will be too pleasant at first. Now, I must take a look at that arrow..."

The princess looked at her husband and gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. He took deep breaths, though to her it looked like even breathing was not entirely painless for him at the moment. Master Ferdbrego examined the injury on the Marshal's thigh for a while, and then gave a displeased moan.

"It looks to be quite deep. I fear that removing it won't be too easy", he said. The healer looked at Éomer then, "My lord, I would ask your captain to hold you down while I remove the arrow. Do I have your permission?"

"Do whatever you need to do. Éothain, do as Master Ferdbrego says", grunted the injured man. He tried to relax his form to prepare for the imminent pain.

Éothain approached the bed then, and settled down on his knees beside his Marshal. Lothíriel was suddenly glad that the Master had chosen Éothain instead, as she didn't think she was strong enough to hold Éomer down as Ferdbrego worked with the arrow.

"If you would bite this, my lord", said the healer and offered a piece of wood; Lothíriel took it and carefully placed it between her husband's teeth.

"It's all right", she reassured him and wiped droplets of sweat from his forehead. "You'll be fine."

He didn't answer of course, but took one moment more to prepare, and then nodded as a sign that Master Ferdbrego could begin.

* * *

Lothíriel felt curiously weary when she exited their bedchamber. Though she had done very little in her own opinion, it felt like she had just gone through some long battle. A part of her wanted to go and hug Elfhild tight, but that would have to wait for later. And anyway, in Scýne's care the little one was better off at the moment.

Elric was waiting for her, as was Captain Éothain and Amrothos. All three looked very serious, Elric even scared.

"How is he, my lady?" he asked quickly, when Lothíriel had closed the door behind herself. It was odd to realise that at some point, _she _had become that responsible adult who knew all things and was looked up to by others. When had that ever happened? She was just nineteen!

"He is resting now", she answered. "Don't worry, Elric. Master Ferdbrego says he is going to be fine."

Indeed, though Éomer had lost some blood when the healer had treated to his wound, he was of tougher build than that. With proper rest, he would soon be as hale as ever.

Nevertheless, Elric let out a muffled sob and dashed towards Lothíriel. He threw his arms about her and hugged her tight. Oddly enough it reminded her a bit of the boy's father. Still she let him hug her, and returned the affection (albeit kind of awkwardly).

"I was so scared. I thought he'd die", Elric mumbled. His voice was weak with relief; she knew how the boy felt, for Éomer's death was something she dreaded too.

"Your father is made of strong stuff", she said softly, weaving her fingers through the boy's messy hair. She pulled back then a little, so that she could see his face. "Now, it is late already, and you should be in bed. Go to sleep, Elric."

A worried look came back to his features then, and he started: "If something happens..."

"I'll come and tell you", Lothíriel finished, and Elric gave her a watery little smile. Then he bid good night to them and went along, and the princess sighed. She had a feeling it would be a while yet before she could catch any rest herself.

"Now, I'd like to know what happened", she announced and looked at the two men who were still in the room.

Éothain cast a brief, unsure look at Amrothos, as if wondering whether the Prince could be trusted. She saw that look and said, "Whatever it is, you can say with my brother here."

"Of course, my lady", said the captain and began to clarify the events that had led to the Marshal's injury. Apparently the éored had ridden into an ambush, like she had heard before, but there was more to it than just that.

"I remained at his side from the very beginning, my princess, and to me it seemed like the orcs had just one goal: that is the ending the life of your husband", Éothain said in quiet, grave tones. "They barely paid any heed to other men, of whom there was plenty. That is how my lord Marshal received his injuries. We held against the orcs however and were able to win over them in the end."

"Orcs don't go just one man, ever. If they're concerned with something, it's just general chaos and ruin", Amrothos argued.

"Maybe so", Éothain allowed, "but I know what I saw, and I've not seen orcs fight like that before. They were trying to get to the Marshal, like his death was their sole purpose. I think someone sent them with such a wish in mind."

"Someone?" Lothíriel asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Aye. And these orcs bore a curious mark on their shields and helmets. A white hand, whatever that means", Éothain answered. "I've never seen orcs from Mordor bear such sign."

"Is it someone else, then?" Amrothos asked. He was frowning now too. Indeed, the idea that there was another dark force at work here was an alarming thought.

"I wish I knew", sighed the captain. "I promise I will look into it right away."

"Thank you, captain", Lothíriel said. "Can I trust you to command my husband's éored while he recovers?"

"That would be an honour, my lady", Éothain said and bowed.

He left then, but Amrothos did not go with him. Lothíriel looked at her brother curiously, wondering what he might have in mind.

"I was actually hoping to talk with you, sister. But then this mess happened and... well, I suppose I should speak of this to your husband, but I don't even know how this works when he is, hmm, indisposed", Amrothos explained.

"What is it, then?" she asked.

"Like you know, myself and the Swan Knights have helped out with guard duties when the Marshal is out. That was what we were doing when one of my knights and I came across this argument. Or fist-fight, whatever suits you best", he started. "We went in between the fighters of course, but our attempts to try and calm everyone down didn't really seem to work."

"Why so? Who were these fighters anyway?" she asked.

"Actually it was kind of a one-sided fight. You see, these three men had attacked one fellow – Hrodgar, they named him. He doesn't speak much Westron, so I couldn't ask his side of the story. Anyway, his attackers accused him of malicious witchcraft. They seemed to think that misfortunes of late, like the night frosts and the threat of famine, were somehow his fault. I tried to say it was completely nonsensical, but they wouldn't listen to me. They demanded the Marshal settle the matter for good and banish that man", Amrothos went on. He sighed then, "I didn't really have any choice than to arrest this so called witch, though it was mostly for his own safety. I feared those three troublemakers would assault him again once I turned my back. He's in the cells now, and I was going to come and ask what I should do with him, but that was when I saw you beside your injured husband."

Lothíriel listened quietly to her brother's tale, her frown deepening as he spoke. She remembered the man Amrothos was speaking of, for Hrodgar's strange warning still troubled her sometimes, and she wondered what he had meant. Hrodgar certainly was an odd man, but what her brother was speaking of was just blind superstition, doubtlessly stirred up by the atmosphere of doom that seemed to hover over all of the Mark.

She knew this matter would have to be handled delicately before it flamed into a wildfire.

"I will have to speak with my husband about this. I believe it is under his judgement anyway... but it will have to wait until the morning at least", she said at last after thinking about Amrothos' tidings for a moment.

"Of course. The cells are comfortable enough for now. I'll just go and tell the man that he'll have to wait", he said, offering his sister a gentle smile. "Go and have some sleep. You look like some rest would do you good."

"I still have to take care of Elfhild", Lothíriel said, unable to hide the sullen tone from her voice. "And I'll have to sit up for a while, in case my husband..."

She couldn't finish that sentence, but Amrothos understood. He puller her into a hug then and held her close for a long while.

"You're very brave, sister", he told her.

"You think so?" she mumbled. She didn't feel brave at all.

"Of course I do", he said and pulled back. He smiled at her, "It's going to be all right."

Not finding it in herself to answer, she just answered his smile weakly.

* * *

The cold light of morning was already flooding the chamber when Lothíriel woke up. She had fallen asleep sitting beside her husband; she had watched him and tried to stay awake with the help of some needlework, but evidently that had not worked in the end.

He slept still and as she touched his forehead, it felt hot and moist to her. He had fever!

Fear was renewed in her chest as she picked up her skirts and climbed on her feet. Master Ferdbrego had said Éomer should be fine as long as he rested, but fever was never a good thing when combined with wounds. So she hurried off to fetch the healer, all the while scolding herself for falling asleep and not observing her husband readily enough.

Ferdbrego came soon enough and examined the Marshal's wound, but it seemed clean and there was no sign of infection, so it was difficult to tell what precisely was causing the fever.

"It is worrying, yes. But you should remain hopeful, my lady. It may be a passing thing, and anyway he is a strong young man. He should be able to overcome it", said the Master in an attempt to calm her down, but Lothíriel did not really feel too relieved.

And all the while, a nasty little voice kept nattering at the back of her mind, and asking: _what if he dies?_

Had it been up to her, Lothíriel would have spent the day beside him and let others worry about running things, but then before it even was noon Ceola came to tell her that Captain Éothain and Master Oferlof wanted to speak with her. Only after the girl had promised she'd call Lothíriel right away if there was any change in the Marshal's health did the princess agree to go and see the men waiting for her in the parlour.

Both of them wore grave expressions, and she guessed they were because of more reasons than just the injuries of their lord.

"What is it?" Lothíriel asked, bracing herself as if there were some great evil to be revealed.

"Am I correct in assuming you are already aware of the situation with the man called Hrodgar son of Haleth, my lady?" Éothain asked.

"That is right. My brother spoke to me of it last night, but I was hoping I could tell my lord husband of it this morning. However, he is too sick at the moment", she answered warily.

"Some people have come, and they demand the Marshal to attend to matter right away. It is calm enough at the moment, but I fear what might happen if this situation is not dealt with", said Oferlof quietly. She had never spoken too much with this man, but she knew Éomer held him in high esteem.

"He is too ill to do anything than rest until he is better. I'm not sure one would be able to receive a word of reason from him now, when he is feverish", Lothíriel argued.

"That is why we ask for your interference", Éothain said, which instantly had her freezing on the spot. "You see, my lady, our custom is that if the Lord of Aldburg is indisposed, then his lady should act as his advocate."

"But what am I supposed to do? You can't expect me to take up his duties! I don't even know-" she started, but Oferlof gave her a gentle smile.

"I'm sure you will do well. And anyway, you do not need to do this alone, my lady. If you so wish, we as your lord husband's trusted men will act as your advisers", he said. "You only need to hear what these people have to say, and afterwards we will consider what to do."

Lothíriel sighed and thought of Oferlof's words. She hadn't expected this, but... perhaps she should consider it as just another of her duties as the Marshal's wife. And anyway, it didn't seem like she could refuse. She could always leave the ultimate decision to her husband's trusted men.

"Fine. Have everything ready, and we will see what this so called witch has to say", she decided. Captain Éothain nodded, and the two men went along to prepare a gathering for judgement and justice.

_Oh, Elbereth, give me wisdom!_

* * *

The Hall was full of people and their voices carried to the Marshal's chambers by the time Captain Éothain came to call Princess Lothíriel and inform her that everything was ready. She had been rather busy, first beside her husband and then checking on Elfhild (who was currently in Scýne's care), and finally donning on a bit more official clothing than her more everyday gowns. Eventually she had decided to dress in green and gold, if only to emphasise her position as the Marshal's wife and representative rather than as a foreign princess.

Before she entered the hall, one of her husband's riders, Silfbár (famed for his powerful voice), called for silence. He announced then: "Lady of Aldburg, Princess Lothíriel!"

_I'm a princess who married a Marshal. I never had to do anything like this in Dol Amroth. _

Perhaps that was a strange thing to think of when she made her way to the dais where her husband's seat waited for her, with Éothain and five other men just behind her. Apparently the seat belonged to her in Éomer's absence, yet still as she approached the wooden chair and sat down, she expected someone to shout and scold her for daring to take the Marshal's seat.

Quiet chatter rose and fell as she looked about herself; she had never seen the hall so full of people. She guessed the three angry looking men not too far opposite her were the ones who had attacked Hrodgar. Otherwise, the crowd seemed to consist of those who sympathised more or less, and of people who had just come here to satisfy their curiosity. Afterwards, she heard there had been many more people outside, but they weren't allowed in because the hall was already full.

She then realised they were waiting for her mark now, and she nodded at Éothain, "Bring in the prisoner."

The voice that came out of her mouth didn't sound like her own, and she quietly hoped she could keep up this calm right until the end.

At Éothain's sign, two guards brought in Hrodgar. In his furs he looked much the same as the last time she had seen him. His face was not of a fearful man. If anything, he looked disinterested if vaguely annoyed. His hands were tied nevertheless, and the sight of him had some of the crowd shouting insults and even obscenities. Yet he held his head up high, and though his walk was hindered by a limp, it did not take away any of his pride and dignity. It was quite an achievement from a man who looked like he had just trudged out of a forest.

"Silence!" bellowed Éothain with the surety of a man who was used to shouting orders over the noise of battle. The yells died then and an attentive quiet fell over the crowd.

"As my lord husband is currently indisposed, I have been tasked with passing judgement during his absence", Lothíriel began. At least so far her voice remained clear and strong. She continued, "It is as abiding and rightful as if Lord Éomer himself gave it. I trust all those present who are invited to speak here today to tell only the truth, and nothing more. May Béma pass his judgement on false hearts and tongues."

It wasn't actually too different from words she had once heard her father speaking, but it seemed to satisfy everyone, especially since she had replaced "the Valar" with Béma. Now she was very glad for her language lessons with Eadmod, as she was able to deliver her speech with fluent Rohirric.

She looked at the man on the front of her then, "Are you the one men call Hrodgar son of Haleth?"

"Aye, my lady", he said. His voice was soft and quiet, even pleasant.

"And what do the men accuse you of doing?" she asked.

"They say I have caused night frosts and called ill winds to lay waste on the Mark", Hrodgar said, his tone almost passive.

"And he has called ruin over the Third Marshal too! Or is Lord Éomer not fighting for his life right now?" exclaimed one of the three men. That roused some shouts of agreement from the crowd.

"Silence. You will not speak before you are asked to", Lothíriel said coolly, frowning at the auburn-haired Rohir. "My lord husband is injured, yes, but it is not as grave as you would make it. And if anyone is to be blamed for his condition, it is the plots and schemes of one enemy we all know well, not any living man in this hall."

That caused a soft murmur in the crowd, and at least to her it sounded like a sound of agreement.

The princess looked at Hrodgar again, and asked: "What do you say to these accusations, then?"

"I call them false. No mortal man has power over weathers or to summon misfortune so great that an entire kingdom would fall to ruin", said the fur-clad man. His voice rose, hard and loud, and a frown came to his face.

Well, he was right about that. But how could she make the crowd see that too? She couldn't just condemn an innocent man because of some superstitions and paranoia. That was not what Éomer would have done. Suddenly, she intensely wished that he could have been here now; after all, he was the lord of these people, and she had a feeling they might respect his decision better than hers. She could very well be his wife but the folk of Aldburg might still consider her an outlander.

Lothíriel sighed to herself and looked at Hrodgar's accusers. They were eyeing the man with unveiled loathing.

"What proof do you have that implies Hrodgar is to be blamed?" she asked. That seemed to abash them slightly.

"Everyone knows he's a witch. He sells potions and magic tricks and Béma knows what other evil things!" said the same auburn-haired man who had spoken first.

"I have never heard of a potion powerful enough to ravage an entire land with famine, and anyway I was under the impression that my lord husband's labours and the aid of my father Prince Imrahil have prevented it", Lothíriel commented dryly. "What do you answer, Hrodgar?"

"I am no witch", said the accused man calmly. "It is a misinformed name, given by those who do not understand my trade. I make potions, aye, but it is only a matter of herb-lore and understanding of how things work. That is knowledge shared by your very own Master Ferdbrego, and I see no one accusing him of witchcraft. I sell no magic tricks – even a child knows such things exist only in stories."

"Then what it is you are?" asked the princess.

"In the days of Éothéod my kind was called the wise men, helpers and healers and councillors. I do not claim such a title, though. My skills and knowledge are but a shadow of what used to be, and I have fallen far; for like many old things in the world now, the order of wise men is dwindling and those that remain are accused of evil and malice, like I am now", Hrodgar answered. As he spoke, it seemed like he grew in height too, and spoke with the voice of a world and people now gone.

"Lies! He is nothing but a witch and a servant of the Enemy!" cried one of the three men. More shouts rose from that, and Éothain had to call for silence again.

"Then have you seen him performing that art? Does the Enemy come to his doorstep? Has the guard of Aldburg fallen so low that the servants of the shadow now roam our town?" asked the princess sharply, but it did not look like Hrodgar's accusers could answer that question. They shared an indecisive glance, but remained silent.

"Does anyone in this hall have proof that this man Hrodgar is indeed in the counsels of the shadow? Can anyone tell me of his ill deeds or of the evil he has caused?" Lothíriel asked, scanning the crowd with her eyes.

Silence hung over the crowd, but she saw some frowning and doubtful faces. The princess straightened up on her seat and assumed a sharp and stern expression.

"No one speaks", she began, "and so I must presume that Hrodgar son of Haleth is innocent to the accusations that have been made here against him. As my father once taught me, and as you good people must believe too, it is not the way of the Free Men to condemn people without any grounds; that is the wont of the shadow and in it lies tyranny. In this time it is ever more important that we strive for the light. My judgement is that Hrodgar is not guilty of witchcraft."

Shouts of disapproval immediately rose, and one of Hrodgar's accusers exclaimed: "You can't let him go! He is too dangerous!"

As Éothain and Silfbár were trying to calm down the crowd, Lothíriel quickly tried to come up with some solution to this. She was vaguely aware that Oferlof and Ferdbrego, who had been standing near her seat, were quickly talking to her. However, she barely heard them over the noise and the chaos of her own thoughts.

She could not condemn an innocent man, but it was looking like she couldn't let him go either.

But then a thought came to her, and as if someone else was controlling her, she heard her own voice, clear and strong: "Then I will claim him."

At that, a silence fell immediately. All eyes in the hall were now on her. Lothíriel almost lost her nerve, but then found it again. She spoke: "I perceive no evil in this man, but I see your concern, good people of Aldburg. As such, I have made my decision. Hrodgar will be under my guard and observation for a year and a day from now on, and if any evil caused by him should happen to me or anyone else on that time, the blame should be on me. Indeed, if he shows any sign that my decision has been the wrong one, then he will suffer the proper consequences. This is my decree. If anyone wishes to object, let him speak now or be silent."

The princess full expected a storm of arguments then, but surprisingly the crowd remained quiet. She didn't know if that was because people agreed with her decision or if they were just too astonished to say anything. As the silence grew longer, she stood up.

"Then I declare the matter closed. Béma's blessings to all of you", she announced, strode past Hrodgar, and exited the hall.

Only in the quiet of their chambers did Lothíriel ask herself just what she had done.

* * *

It was not long after that the parlour filled with people and noise. Masters Oferlof and Ferdbrego were speaking at the same time, both evidently in the middle of a long clarification of what Lothíriel should have said and done. Éothain looked like he didn't even know what to think, and Scýne appeared to be too busy with Elfhild and trying to get her son Ecgwela calm down to really be of any opinion. As for Elric, he was telling something very quickly to Éothain, but Amrothos was grinning like a madman.

"Would you all just please calm down?" Lothíriel finally exclaimed as she practically fell down on her seat. At the moment, she was fairly sure Éomer would be so angry with her once he heard.

"I still think we should have talked about the matter before you gave your decree", said Ferdbrego, frowning as he spoke.

"What was there to talk about? There was no other way to ensure his safety. I can't let an innocent man be condemned because of some superstitious folk", Lothíriel said, rubbing her forehead.

"But now you're stuck with him", said the healer, "and if he indeed is a witch as they say, or even just an evil man, you will suffer for it, my lady."

"I know. But that is a choice I made, and I am going to stand behind it", said the princess. "Where is he at the moment anyway?"

"Mother decided that if that man is going to stay here for now, he needs a proper scrubbing and something decent to wear", said Scýne. She cast a look at Ferdbrego, "And let me tell you: if Hrodgar endures my mother's handling without using witchcraft or some other devilry, then we can rest assured of his innocence."

"Is he really a witch?" Elric put in.

"Of course he isn't", Lothíriel answered tiredly. She glanced at the people who had gathered in the chamber, and continued, "If you ask me, I should think he is going to be on his best behaviour for the year to come. For if he does anything at all, accusations will raise again and he will suffer for it."

"And he can't even do anything to you, because it will look like he is actually what people say he is! In fact, he should be very concerned by your safety. You have just acquired yourself a protector, I think. Very clever, sister", Amrothos complimented. That had her frowning.

"To be honest, I didn't even think that", she admitted.

"Well, you were being clever without knowing it, anyway", he said. He grinned again, "I was very impressed as a matter of fact. You didn't seem at all like that wild little girl I used to chase on the beach and who was so fond of stealing my sword and throwing tantrums. You were like a queen."

Lothíriel blinked at that, for the word her brother had just spoken.

_Min hlæfdige_ _Cwén, Módor of mihtige Cyningas..._

She shook her head at the thought and the memory of Ethelgifu's voice, and looked at her brother.

"I was just thinking of how Father would handle the situation", she mumbled.

"Still, my lady, I have an ill feeling about this. Hrodgar might be innocent of what he was accused of, but that does not make him an upstanding subject to the King. His name has a strange reputation, and I do not think your lord husband will be pleased by this either", said Oferlof gravely.

"I will deal with Lord Éomer, and explain this to him", Lothíriel said. Odd, how her voice sounded like that of someone who actually knew what they were doing. "It is not a situation I take pleasure in myself, but like I said, it is not our way to condemn people we find even slightly suspicious."

Oferlof sighed, but seemed to give up. "Very well. I just hope nothing bad will come out of this."

"That is what I hope too", said the princess, and allowed herself a sigh. Then Scýne lay Elfhild in her arms and she hugged her daughter tightly against herself.

Somehow, in the softness of the child's flaxen hair, she found the strength she needed.

* * *

When Hrodgar next appeared on the front of the princess, she almost took him for someone else. Bathed, hair combed and dressed in a tunic and breeches, he looked like any other man. But the keen piercing look in his eyes was the same, though it seemed softer for some reason.

Stopping on the front of her, he bowed deep, and then spoke: "My lady. I would like to express my gratitude for your kindness. You were under no obligation to stand up for me, yet you did so anyway. You may very well have saved my life. If I can, I will try to pay back your grace."

At his words, she gave an awkward little smile.

"I just did what was right", she said, "as I do not think any man deserves to be punished because of some ludicrous accusations."

"Nevertheless, I'm grateful, and will gladly serve you for the time you have taken me under your protection", answered Hrodgar. Somehow, it was a strange thing to hear of such a man. For one, she couldn't really see him serving anyone, and least of all her.

A frown came to his face then. "However, I can't imagine your lord husband will be too pleased by my presence, my lady. It seems to me that he does not like me very well."

"Perhaps he doesn't. But I'm sure he'll understand my decision", Lothíriel said and hoped her voice conveyed confidence.

"Speaking of Lord Éomer, how is he faring? I hear he was injured", Hrodgar said then. "I have some skill in healing, if you would wish for help."

She managed an awkward little smile.

"He is better and his fever seems to be going down. And anyway, I have a feeling Master Ferdbrego would consider it stepping on his toes", she said. Hrodgar's face did not betray what he thought of that, but he nodded.

"Of course", he merely said. Then suddenly a strange expression came to his face. "My lady, you seem to place a lot of faith in me. You perceive that I am an innocent man. However, I must tell you I am not as blameless and pure as you would believe."

"I know as much", she said sharply. "Men do not receive reputation such as yours from nothing. Perhaps I am wrong in allowing you this pass. But I would rather carry the consequences of a mistaken judgement than condemn a man of whose guilt I have no proof of..."

She frowned then and searched his eyes, as if she could read his mind that way.

"You did warn me before my daughter was born. I do not think that was a deed of an evil man, even if I don't know what you meant precisely", she said at length. "Would you like to tell me that now?"

Hrodgar's face became reluctant.

"I fear I can't reveal that. I can only tell you I was concerned for your safety – I still am, my lady. Perhaps even more now than then, though I have no foresight such as some possess", said Hrodgar, and his eyes fell to Elfhild, who was sleeping in her mother's arms at the moment. He spoke again, but it was almost as if he was talking to himself, "I feel now it is good that I chose this path..."

She wondered what that meant, and what it was he wouldn't tell her. But if Lothíriel could judge his character at all, she knew she could not make him tell her anything he did not wish to tell. Hrodgar was not a man to be forced. Quietly, she wondered to herself if it had been a very poor idea to take near herself a man such as him.

But if it was true, that he was concerned for her safety... then perhaps it was as Amrothos had said. Perhaps she had acquired a protector in Hrodgar.

She at least hoped that was so.

* * *

Lothíriel had suspected as much as soon as she had made the decision of taking Hrodgar under her protection: her husband was not too happy about the matter. When his fever had gone down and he was feeling better, she explained to him what had happened at the gathering. A frown on his face deepened as she spoke, and when she had finished the story, he sighed heavy and long.

"Well, what do you think?" asked the princess anxiously.

Éomer remained quiet for a while before he spoke. When he did talk, he sounded resigned.

"It was a brave thing to do", he allowed, "but I do not know if it was smart."

"I know that. It's not the best decision I've ever made, but the more I think of it, the more convinced I am there was no other way", she said.

"Perhaps that is so", he said quietly. "I'm not happy with the situation, though."

"You wish to handle it by yourself?" Lothíriel asked.

"I would have rather liked to attend to this myself. But I'm not going to re-issue it. You have given your decree, and if I was to openly disagree and call for another gathering, it would only damage your authority. I don't want to give an image of disruption in our marriage", he said softly. "In other words, I will trust your judgement."

"Thank you", Lothíriel said, feeling relieved already. "I was fearing you would be so displeased that you would want to undo my decision. But if it turns out I was wrong... the blame and the consequence is mine."

"But what if the consequence falls on Elfhild too?" asked her husband. That instantly made the princess feel troubled, and she bit her lip.

"He wouldn't harm her. He said he was grateful – that he'd return the favour if..." she mumbled, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Éomer sighed again and looked away. Then he turned his eyes back to her.

"Be it as may, I will rip out his heart if he harms either of you", he said, deadly serious as he spoke; she knew he'd do it without hesitation, and she shivered.

Her husband took her hand and pulled her gently towards himself, and she settled beside him. She placed her head against the strong shoulder of her Marshal, and felt a gentle little kiss on the top of her head.

"You do not seem to understand how precious I hold both you and our daughter", he murmured; the words were in Rohirric, as if Westron did not quite convey the depth and meaning. "And how terrifying it is to think of losing you."

When he said that, she looked up at him. His face was very grave, but never had she seen his soul so unveiled before her eyes.

"The same could be said of you, husband", she told him quietly, "for I am equally scared when I think of all the things that could happen."

Her voice turned grim then, and she muttered, "And let me tell you that if he – or anyone – does something to my family, they will find that I too have wrath and vengeance."

She settled back against him and felt a deep breath leave him. When he talked again, his voice was a bit lighter at last, "Swans can be rather scary creatures, I find."

That made her smile.

"You have no idea, dearest husband", she told him. "It's not all pure white feathers and gliding on water majestically."

He chuckled softly at that and held on to her a bit tighter. Lothíriel lifted her face so that she could kiss him, and he answered the affections readily; soon she found herself straddling his lap. There was no mistaking of the look in his eyes, which instantly made her feel very warm.

"You're sure? What of your wound?" she asked breathlessly.

"Damn all the wounds in the world", he said, pulling her closer.

Soon enough she agreed.

* * *

**A/N: **My muse has risen anew, and he is glorious and terrible. In other words: HAHA I LIED. About the next update, I mean. Well, not really lied - I just didn't expect to have couple of sleepless but very creative nights. Here is the result and you get an early update. Nevertheless it looks like this is going to be the last update for a while, as I don't think I'll be having much time for writing next two weeks. But no worries - I'm not going to forget about this story. You just have to be patient for a while.

The story took here kind of an unexpected turn, but I already see how it will affect the storyline I have in mind. I certainly didn't expect to things go like this with Hrodgar, but this thing pretty much wrote itself. I know I was promising more elaboration on Amrothos motivations but Hrodgar more or less hijacked this chapter, so that will probably be handled in the next one.

The idea that Lothíriel would take the place of her husband in the gathering for judgement is my own of course: I don't know how Tolkien would have thought of such a situation.

As for you people who are wondering about what part Amrothos will play... well, I can only say: wait and see!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_Yule 3018, Edoras_

Eorlingas were a people who placed great value on traditions and rituals. In that sense, Yule was no exception; in fact, one could have argued that people took the matter of Yuletide even more seriously than they usually did now that shadows grew ever taller and even strong men such as the Third Marshal of the Riddermark were struggling to keep up the peace and security.

In this, Yuletide was like a safe haven, and a small escape from things like orc raids and tidings of the White Wizard's friendship turned sour. In the middle of dark, any ray of light was precious.

Like they had spoken last Yule, this time the little family of the Third Marshal travelled for Edoras to celebrate the occasion with most of what remained of his kin; Eadmod did no come along for the obvious reasons, but Elfhild, Elric and Amrothos did. The prince especially was excited to see a proper Rohirric Yule. As for Eadmod, when Lothíriel had expressed her concern for whether the old woman would be lonely in Aldburg, she had just smiled.

"I've seen many, many Yules, my dear, and I will be just fine here in my home. I would not want to hinder you young folks from going and enjoying the celebrations", she said gently.

The ride to Edoras had been wet and unpleasant for the most of the company of the Third Marshal and the sight of the capital of the horselords was more than welcome. Lothíriel herself had suffered only small part of the soft drizzle that had begun when they had left from Aldburg; she travelled again by wagon with her daughter, and the vehicle had been provided with sturdy canopy made of cowskin. As soon as it had started to look like rain, Éomer had decided his little daughter would not travel in such a weather as she would just have caught a cold, and the girl was too small to travel alone in the wagon.

The rest of the company had not been as fortunate, but the Marshal's men were used to riding in all kinds of weathers. Elric wasn't one to complain either since he got to come along, Amrothos was too excited about getting to see the seat of Rohan's King, and Hrodgar never said much about anything. As for Lothíriel's handmaiden Ceola, she shared the wagon but still looked kind of miserable (which could also have been because she had to leave behind her sweetheart, a young rider named Wigmund).

All in all, it was good to see their destination and the Golden Hall rising up on the hill, and as soon as they had arrived Éowyn came to welcome them. It was evening already as they had not been able to travel too fast. The King's niece was smiling when they came, and she gave a hug to her brother and sister-in-law and kissed the brow of sleeping Elfhild.

"How is she even able to sleep in this weather?" asked Éowyn.

"She seems to be a very gifted when it comes to sleeping", Lothíriel said, smiling as she looked down on her little daughter. "I fear that is inherited from me."

"Aye. My lady wife could sleep through the full charge of Rohirrim and know nothing", Éomer confirmed, which had her elbowing him.

Elric came then, grinning happily; he hugged his aunt with that enthusiastic affection he showed to everyone he felt comfortable with.

"Look at you, Elric! I swear you grow taller every time I see you", Éowyn laughed.

"Soon I'll be as tall as Father!" he answered happily. That made Éomer chuckle too, and he ruffled the boy's hair.

"Of course you will be", he said, which idea seemed to give him much pride. He looked at his sister then.

"We also have a guest with us", he said and made way to his wife's brother, who bowed at Éowyn. The Marshal continued, "This is Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth."

"It is an honour, my lady", said the prince, wearing one of his more charming smiles.

"Likewise, lord", Éowyn answered. She looked like she was about to say something more, but then her eyes fell on something behind them and she frowned. Lothíriel glanced briefly over her own shoulder to see what had distracted her sister-in-law. Quickly she realised it was the thin shape of Hrodgar. He stood quietly at the feet of the stairs, alone and as silent as ever.

"Isn't that...?" started Éowyn, her eyes still fixed on the soothsayer.

"I'll explain later", Lothíriel said quietly. That did nothing to smooth her sister-in-law's features, but the older woman nodded nonetheless.

"Well, I suppose all of you would appreciate some warmth and supper at the moment. We will speak later", Éowyn said at last, and they made their way inside.

* * *

As it was not quite night yet, the men had gone along; to show Amrothos around, Lothíriel supposed. She was thankful for that as it gave her the chance of talking with Éowyn and tell her sister-in-law the tidings of late. Especially the matter of Hrodgar appeared to be one that highly interested the older woman.

The man himself sat not far from the two women, who were enjoying some hot tea in a shadowy nave which provided enough privacy for them to talk in peace. Like he had since the day Lothíriel had claimed him under her protection, Hrodgar never disappeared too far. She didn't know if that was because he wanted her trust or because of some ill intention like some would have her believe.

Éowyn listened to her explanations quietly. When the princess had recited the story of how she had taken Hrodgar under her protection, the Rohir woman turned to look at her.

"And he has stayed in your household ever since then?" she asked softly.

"Yes. He can't do much hard work because of that limp of his, but he's one of the best weavers I've ever seen, and knows as much about herbs as Master Ferdbrego. Actually, the herb mixtures of tea he makes are more delicious than what I've tasted even in the court of my uncle Lord Denethor", Lothíriel answered. "As far as I'm concerned, he never causes trouble or bothers anyone."

"Does he stay with you all the time?" Éowyn inquired. Her face still did not betray what she thought.

"Well, much of time he does accompany me. I'm the one who claimed him, after all. But Bierwén and Oferlof keep an eye on him sometimes too, and I think Elric would too if Éomer would let him. Your brother thinks Hrodgar is bad influence on the boy", said the princess. "He doesn't like the man and I don't blame him... but even then, he lets Hrodgar stay in the Marshal's Hall."

Éowyn remained quiet for one moment more. Eventually she sighed and looked pensively at Lothíriel.

"Quite a tangle you have there", she said at length. "And it sounds unpleasant to me. If I were you, I'd probably throw this Hrodgar out."

"I gave my word. It wouldn't do to break it, especially so soon", Lothíriel said. Strangely enough, she felt the urge to defend the man she had promised her protection. Surely all these doubtful attitudes had to be just prejudices? She at least had never seen him do anything bad, and he was always polite and respectful towards her.

"At least you're honourable, if anything", said her sister-in-law.

That made Lothíriel frown.

"You keep telling me I made a poor call in claiming him, but I have yet to see him doing something bad. And as far as I've seen, he doesn't seem dangerous or ill-intentioned to me. I can't help but think if it's just prejudices that everyone has against him", she said, sharper than she had intended.

Éowyn did not answer at first, but eventually she let out a soft sigh. Then she turned to look at the princess again.

"I truly hope you are right, Lothíriel", she said softly.

"You will see", said the princess. "Perhaps all he needs is just someone who believes in him."

That brought a curious little smile to her sister-in-law's face, and she lifted her eyebrows. Lothíriel asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing, really", said Éowyn, and the princess would have demanded to know what she were thinking had the older woman not continued speaking then. "Tell me, how are things in Aldburg?"

The question effectively distracted Lothíriel. She looked down on her hands and frowned.

"I don't suppose they are much better than in anywhere", she began quietly, fingers curling into fists. "Éomer barely stays home at all these days – he's so busy with his duties – and when he does come, all he seems to do is just trying to catch some sleep... and more refugees have come from the eastern parts. It's hard to find lodgings and livelihood for all of them. My husband is talking about pulling back the herdsmen beyond Entwash, because apparently the borderlands are becoming too dangerous. And every time he comes home from Edoras, he's on such a foul mood, because your uncle..."

She sighed and thought of all the ill words that were reaching her ears these days. Éowyn sighed as well.

"I know. I've heard how he argues with uncle... or, you know with who", she muttered. "I've tried to tell he should try to be more patient, but you know how he is. And really, this is perhaps not the best time for the patient men."

"Aye", Lothíriel answered and rubbed her forehead.

"What of you and Elfhild then? How are the two of you faring?" Éowyn asked, attempting for a lighter tone.

"We are both fine. The little one is a strong and healthy child... she has learned to sit up and if she's awake, she won't stop babbling. Elric is thrilled of course, and trying to teach her speak already", Lothíriel answered, smiling faintly as she thought of her little daughter.

"I'm glad to hear that. It's good to know that even in the middle of this all my brother has such happiness to return to..." said her sister-in-law. Then her smile turned a look of concern, "but to be honest, you seem kind of tired to me."

"It's fine. I've just been busy lately, and it's not so easy to catch sleep when Éomer is away and I'm worrying if he's all right..." Lothíriel sighed. Éowyn reached for her hand then and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I know", she said quietly; she did not need to be explained about the ever-present worry that was being a family member of a warrior.

"Well, I hope you can rest at least for a little bit now that you're all here in Edoras. It is Yuletide, and perhaps here is still some light for us."

* * *

Éomer had told her to go out and enjoy the markets and perhaps bit of fresh air; during the Yuletide, it was particularly busy in the capital's markets, and there was even a festive mood despite all. Amrothos had been happy to come along, and Hrodgar came too, though the man probably wasn't too interested in buying anything; mostly, he just silently trailed behind the two siblings, and at times Lothíriel even forgot he was there. When the princess had worried whether Elfhild would be all right, Ceola had promised she'd look after the little one while Lothíriel herself was gone.

Exploring the markets was exciting enough, at least until it started to look like they would get more rain soon, and so they decided to return to Meduseld.

As they made their way uphill, Lothíriel looked at her brother and said, "Perhaps we can come again tomorrow or the day after. Éomer said that Yule markets always last for an entire week."

"That sounds nice. I'd like to take a better look on those markets anyway –I was thinking of buying a proper Rohirric saddle. And Aredhel and Fainien would probably like some Rohirric jewellery."

"They would appreciate that, yes", Lothíriel agreed and linked her arm with that of her brother. It was small moments like these when she became particularly aware of how much she missed her family back in Dol Amroth... _her other family._

That was a strange thing to understand. Éomer and Elfhild were her family just as much as Father and brothers and sister-in-laws, but in truth distinction between the two was not easy.

"Is something wrong?" Amrothos asked then, distracting his sister from her thoughts.

"No, no. I was just thinking", she answered and glanced at him. "It's just so good to have you here. I wish you never had to leave."

He gave her a small smile.

"I'm not going any time soon", he promised. He grinned then, "and I'm not sure young Elric would let me go. He likes my stories about pirates too much."

That was indeed true, and it even seemed a bit like in Amrothos, the boy had found something of an older brother. Lothíriel herself was fairly sure that if Amrothos had not been concerned with upholding the honour of Dol Amroth, the two of them would have been up to all kinds of mischief. In Elric, Lothíriel's brother had a highly appreciative audience for all the stories of sea and pirates and valiant Swan Knights of old he could possibly think of, and often the two would spar together on the training grounds.

They were halfway back to the Golden Hall then, and suddenly Lothíriel spotted a familiar face. Dreda was coming down from Meduseld, carrying a basket by her arm.

"Good day, my lady", she greeted the princess and cast a curious look at Amrothos.

"Good day to you too, Dreda. This is my brother Prince Amrothos. He has come to stay with us for a while", Lothíriel said, and he instantly assumed a charming smile. He bowed at her and picked up her hand for a kiss like the most graceful Gondorian courtier. Dreda lifted her eyebrows and at least to Lothíriel she seemed kind of dumbfounded.

"It is delightful to meet you, Lady Dreda", said Amrothos, and the Rohir woman blinked.

"Just Dreda", she said and coughed. "But I'm glad to meet you as well, my lord."

"You're going to see the markets?" Lothíriel asked.

"Master Cyneric sent me to pick up some things for him, so I fear I don't have too much time for actually looking around, my lady", answered Dreda.

"Oh, I see. We shouldn't really keep you in that case", said the princess.

"It's fine. He said it wasn't too urgent", Dreda said, waving her hand. "I saw you before, but didn't have time to come and greet."

"Well, you did now", Lothíriel said with a smile. "Are you staying here in Edoras for the Yuletide?"

"Aye. I don't have much of family left in Aldburg anyway, and I've always wanted to see Yule here in our capital", said the golden-haired woman. She looked like she would have said something more, but then suddenly her face became very pale and her eyes widened; she was staring at something behind Lothíriel.

The princess turned her head to see what had so rendered Dreda speechless, and was met with the face of Hrodgar who had been slowly trailing behind. His face was completely devoid of any expression, but in his black eyes there was a look she could not understand. Be it as may, he was staring back at Dreda, who still stood silent, as if a mouse hypnotised by a snake.

"Is something wrong?" Lothíriel asked, glancing from Dreda back to Hrodgar. Amrothos looked just as curious as she felt.

The soothsayer took a limping step forward, so that he stood right behind the princess. He rarely got so near her, or anyone.

"My lady, I should recommend we continue. It will be raining soon", he grumbled.

"Of course", Lothíriel said, though she wondered what this all was about. Maybe Hrodgar and Dreda had some unpleasant history? Nevertheless she turned to look at Dreda again and nodded her head to the golden-haired woman. "Perhaps we will talk again some time soon. I bid you good day."

"Likewise, my lady", Dreda answered, but her voice was best described as strained. Then at last she appeared to regain control of herself and quickly she started for the markets.

Frowning, Lothíriel turned to look at Hrodgar again.

"What was that about?" she asked.

He did not answer at first, and for the longest moment his face remained that same expressionless mask. When he spoke at last, his voice was low and reluctant.

"You are wrong to think of her as your friend, Princess", he muttered.

"Oh, I know our start has not been the best one, and honestly I do understand her better now. But I'd like to give her a second chance", Lothíriel said.

"I would not say she is worth it. Stay away from Dreda, my lady", Hrodgar said and gave her a look she really couldn't decipher.

"If I didn't believe in second chances, you would not be here either", Lothíriel pointed out, but that did not impress Hrodgar too much.

"Well, I did warn you", he grumbled and fell back again. Amrothos leant towards her then, and he was looking like he really didn't know what to think of this little scene. As Hrodgar had spoken in Rohirric he had not understood the topic discussed, but the tones had apparently told him enough.

"Rohirrim are really weird people", he commented, at which she snorted.

"Dear brother, you have no idea", Lothíriel muttered.

* * *

The setting was this: the Gondorian's handmaiden had been left in charge of the King's grandniece, and Gríma son of Gálmód smiled quietly to himself, for the opportunity could not really have been better. Had the child been in the care of one of her parents, he doubted it would have been so easy to set the things in motion. The handmaiden, however, was young and though she had apparently already started to get used to handling small children as a part of her duties, a second-hand caretaker is never quite the same thing as the parent.

That was what Gríma was counting on when he made his move – or, rather, had his man make a move.

A Rohir named Osbeorn happened to be in the possession of a large, shaggy-furred wolf hound. It was a mean creature and only listened to the commands of his master, if even those. Osbeorn mainly resided in a village west of Edoras and was known as a great hunter, and he rarely came to Edoras these days. But he did come often enough and this time, he had his hound with him... and it just happened that his back was turned when his dog came across the Gondorian princess' handmaiden and the Marshal's daughter.

From a shadowy corner near the great doors leading inside the Golden Hall, Gríma watched it all: the handmaiden, carrying the child, was just returning from Master Cyneric's lodgings. The courtyard itself was not too busy as most of people were either preoccupied with preparations for the feast, or down at the markets, and it even happened Théodred had taken many riders with him when he had gone out to hunt for some orcs sighted worryingly near Helm's Deep. This very conveniently meant there was no brave rider to interfere.

Altogether it was turning out rather beautiful, and Gríma's grin turned ever wider as he observed the look of terror on the little handmaiden's face as she clutched the child closer to her chest. And the beast growled and looked like it would attack the two any moment now... the girl tried to take a step back, but she stumbled and fell, very nearly dropping the Marshal's daughter in process... the child was crying, which only ever succeeded in fuelling the angry animal's agitation.

"Help! Help!" called the girl, but those few bystanders present were mostly women and children, unarmed and equally terrified of the great hound.

"Oi! Away, you beast!" came a clear, outraged exclamation. Gríma's eyes shot towards the sound of shouting and he spotted the source. It was none other than the Marshal's bastard son. Though he had no weapons against the hound's fell fangs, there was no sign of fear on his face. Rather, he looked like he would have just used his own teeth if the animal did decide to attack.

He practically leapt in between the beast and the handmaiden who was apparently unable to get up in her terror, and most importantly, the child. And the boy was growling back at the dog, growling like he was some fierce wolf.

Gríma could never tell what it was precisely that the boy did then, and how he mastered the situation. Certainly he did not think any brat of that age should be able to subject a half-wild animal under his will with no help of weapons. But then, being the kind of superstitious people they sometimes were, Eorlingas believed that those with the blood of Eorl had a special ability with handling dangerous animals...

But that was foolish; there was no strength in the blood of that long dead king, and certainly not in his descendants. It was just luck that the brat was able to hold back the beast, and somehow bend the hound into his will long enough for the Marshal and his captain to arrive, and beat away the threatening monster with the help of their spears. By that time the Gondorian princess herself had come to the scene, and she was actually crying when she dashed to grab her child. After that she wouldn't stop hugging the boy who had come in between the animal and her daughter... Gríma didn't particularly need to see any of that, and he was about to turn and leave when his eyes fell on two black eyes, staring at him in suspicion.

The limping man who had followed the Marshal's retinue from Aldburg... he stood a little way from the scene and was staring up towards the doors of Meduseld, as if he could see through the very walls. His eyes found Gríma, and his look became a glare that could have turned milk sour.

For some reason, a shiver went down Gríma's spine as he retreated into the shadows.

* * *

The day had not been too pleasant as far as Éomer was concerned. The morning had started with yet another disagreement with the King, and in his frustration he had decided to go out for a ride, to calm his feelings before he said something that could cause serious trouble. But then, a simple ride was not the medicine for his generally troubled mood of these days; and upon his return he rode to the sight of his son standing in between a feral dog and his daughter.

Not many times in his life before had he felt such fierce power or speed as when he rushed to beat back the animal. And he experienced such murderous hate and anger towards the beast, even if he rationally knew it was ultimately the fault of the man who had so poorly raised his hound. But to think of little Elfhild, small and helpless, ravaged by those terrible fangs... it still had his blood boiling.

Lothíriel had arrived then, as had the owner of the damned animal. The Marshal himself had been torn in between dealing with his hysterical wife and the dog's master, but fortunately Amrothos had been there to look after the princess. Angrily, Éomer had lectured Osbeorn – as he named himself – and even demanded the animal to be put down... but the damned man said, eyes wide and innocent, that his hound had never tried to attack anyone.

"You can very well trust I will take this matter to the King", Éomer had growled at last, and then finally strode to the side of his wife and daughter, whom Lothíriel was clutching against her chest as she tried vainly fight her tears of profound startlement. The child herself had already calmed down and showed only curiosity at her parents fright.

His wife was still slightly distraught when Éomer left her in the care of Éowyn and Amrothos (and Hrodgar, who looked like a self-appointed guard on their door), and went to see the King. Uncle had always shown such affection when Elfhild was around. Surely he wouldn't approve of such menaces as that damned beast roaming free?

However, his intention fell short as the guards at the door of the King's chamber informed him that Théoden was not receiving anyone tonight; apparently this was a command from Gríma. It asked him some strength of character to leave his uncle's door then, and it did nothing for his frustration... or his sadness.

His dear, dear uncle was slipping away.

"Cousin", called the voice of Théodred then, effectively distracting the younger man from his dark musings. Armoured and wind-blown, he appeared to just have returned from his orc hunt. Éomer nodded at the Prince.

"Any tidings from west, Théodred?" he asked. At that, the Crown Prince frowned and cast a look about himself.

"I would speak of it in private, if that is fine by you", he said quietly.

"Of course", answered the Marshal, and followed his cousin to the Prince's quarters. As he was the Lord of Hornburg, Théodred did not stay too often in Edoras, not for long at least.

When he was taking off his vambraces, Théodred began to speak.

"I have begun to evacuate the western villages. Gathered those I can to Helm's Deep, and sent others closer to Edoras. Orcs bearing the mark of a white hand roam those lands, and I can't seem to be able to stop them. The white hand of Saruman, as you know by now... he has declared lordship over our lands, and the Gap of Rohan appears to be now closed to us. There's no passage west for Eorlingas", he said at length, his voice just as heavy as his words.

"No passage for us in our own land?" Éomer growled, his hands becoming fists. "Oh, what would I give, to have that cursed wizard here now! He would know lordship of sword, and know it well."

Théodred sighed.

"I don't know if any weapon we have could harm him", he said tiredly.

"But doesn't he use orcs as his servants? And isn't our steel just as effective against them as it has always been? Théodred, we should make our move now. We should ride against Saruman before he's too powerful", Éomer said heatedly.

"And you know that I agree with you. If it was in my power, we would have ridden for war ages ago already. But only Father can call Rohan to arms and declare war on the wizard", Théodred answered.

"Declare war! We already _are_ at war, cousin. And we are going to lose, if we do nothing but sit here waiting for doom to come", Éomer said in frustration.

"I know", Théodred said softly, staring down at his hands by the counter. He turned then, and looked at the younger man. "I will try to talk about this with Father, but I would not hope too much. Just... be ready, for whatever it is that waits for us. Strengthen yourself, and your men, and Aldburg. I do not know how this will end. But if – and when – the shadow comes, will you stand behind me?"

Éomer laid a hand on the shoulder of his cousin and gave him a solemn look.

"If you call, I will come", he swore.

* * *

Only after Hrodgar had fixed some calming tea for all of them, Lothíriel finally started to feel a bit better. Her hands trembled no longer, and though she kept glancing at the sleeping form of her daughter, she was not anymore of the mind to demand her husband take them back to Aldburg at first light. Poor Ceola, sitting by Éowyn, had calmed down as well, even if she still looked at times like she was going to start crying and apologising again. Technically, Lothíriel knew very well that the dangerous situation had not been her handmaiden's fault, but she was still wondering if she'd ever dare to let anyone else care for Elfhild.

She was distracted from her thoughts when Amrothos sat down beside her. It was quite crowded in the chamber, with all of them present. But somehow the crammed space brought her a sense of safety too.

"How are you feeling, sister?" he asked.

"I'm not going to start climbing on the walls, if that's what you mean", she answered and lowered her eyes on her cup of tea. The dark golden liquid steamed, and in it there seemed to be a soothing fragrance. It certainly made her feel more peaceful.

"I'd understand if you did, to be honest. It was a terrifying moment", Amrothos said.

"But fortunately Elric was there", said the princess softly and gazed at the boy, who sat quietly beside Elfhild; he too seemed to share her concern that something might still happen. Afterwards, her husband's son had been so shaken and pale – quite a contrast to his cold-headed bravery when he had stood between his little half-sister and the snarling beast.

She dared not think what might have happened had Elric not been present.

The boy gave her a smile nevertheless, and it brought her a strange feeling of shame when she remembered how she had treated Elric before. She must have been mad then.

"Edoras doesn't seem too safe to me, to be honest. If even children are at risk, then..." Amrothos began, but all of a sudden, and most unexpectedly, Hrodgar spoke. Lothíriel had not seen him entering; for his limp, the man could move so quietly sometimes.

"Then what?" he asked in Westron. When he had come to stay in the Marshal's Hall, he had spoken very little of the Common Speech, and Lothíriel at least had never heard him using that language. But now it appeared that he had not spent his time in his mistress' household idly. His speech was accented but as far as she could tell he had no problem managing the tongue itself.

Amrothos was first taken aback, likely because of Hrodgar's unexpected command of Westron, but also because it was probably the first time someone of such low birth actually interrupted him.

"Then I must wonder, what will it mean for all the other innocent people who can't defend themselves", said the prince as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.

"The innocent are defended by those who can fight, my lord", said Hrodgar. "At least it is so in the Mark. Are the civilians required to take up a sword in Dol Amroth?"

Amrothos blinked again, ever more surprised.

"Hrodgar-" Lothíriel started, but her brother lifted his hand, and she fell silent.

"Of course not. But I did see a half-tame hound almost attacking my niece", he pointed out sharply. "And I believe it is my right to be worried for her, and for my sister."

"They are the family of none else the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, and live in one of the best-defended places in all of Rohan. They are protected", said Hrodgar. "as was evidenced by the acts of young Elric."

"With all due respect, Elric is still just a boy", Amrothos commented.

"Hey!" Elric put in, "I may be a boy but I can fight!"

"All of you, calm down!" Lothíriel commanded with as much force as she dared with her sleeping daughter nearby.

"My lady", said the soothsayer, his voice softer this time, "I would just like to know what is the true reason of Prince Amrothos staying here in Rohan for so long."

To Lothíriel's puzzlement, her brother blushed at that.

"I thought it was all right for me to stay with my sister's family for a while", he said quickly, "and I also believed the presence of the knights I brought was welcomed."

"Of course it is welcomed – at least in Aldburg. But some might say that the prince and his knights have some sinister plans, what with their long stay in the house of the Third Marshal", Hrodgar pointed out coolly.

"I have no sinister intentions!" said the prince hotly.

"Then why are you here truly, my lord?" Hrodgar pressed on mercilessly.

"Have the times become so dark that even the honour of Dol Amroth is questioned?" Amrothos asked, but Lothíriel could see the doubt in his eyes. He was losing to a man he had never even considered a potential opponent.

"I'm sure it will not hurt the honour of your house to answer truthfully", said the soothsayer, his voice calm but eyes so piercing it looked like he was trying to read Amrothos' mind.

All eyes were now on the prince. Éowyn was staring at the prince with eyes just as sharp as Hrodgar's, and Lothíriel herself gazed at him questioningly.

Amrothos sighed, his shoulders dropping and face falling down.

"Fine", he said in the voice of a man defeated. "I came not only to secure the provisions, but also because Father told me to come."

Lothíriel frowned at that.

"And why did he tell you to come?" she asked.

"Because the tidings of late have made him fear. He... he heard about that thing our cousin Boromir left to do, and... he talked with Faramir too, when he came back from Aldburg. And then you sent your calls for help and wrote of famine and war and ill things. It was the perfect opportunity – and a perfect reason – to send a guard of Swan Knights", Amrothos explained slowly. He sighed again then, and continued, "Father told me to come here, so that things get too bad in Rohan, and in Gondor as well, I should protect you and your daughter... take you away from here, and so guard what is left of the House of Dol Amroth."

At that, Lothírel jumped on her feet.

"What?!" she exclaimed in surprised anger; her shout instantly woke up Elfhild, whom the very wide-eyed Elric picked up to his lap.

"Calm down, sister", Amrothos answered quickly. He looked kind of pale and startled too.

"No! I will not calm down!" she told her brother and glared at him. "Do tell me, dear brother, was it ever your intention to actually tell me any of this? Or were you just going to drag us away kicking and screaming?"

He blinked again and seemed genuinely confused now.

"No, of course not. I thought that, if things should get so bad, you would be happy to come with me", he said weakly. That made her want to shriek in fury, but it would have just frightened Elfhild. So she threw her arms in the air and paced about for a moment in an attempt to calm down.

"Amrothos, I must wonder", she said at last, trying to stay patient and quiet now, "what kind of a person do you and Father even think me to assume that I would just run away like that? How can you think that I would abandon my lord and husband, and his people, who might come to need me?"

Her brother could not answer her question. Instead, he just lowered his face, and to her he looked profoundly ashamed.

"I didn't think that", he said quietly. "I swear, I didn't mean any harm. I was just concerned, like Father was. You're so far away from us, and... and all this fear and dark and not knowing how things will go... Mother told me to look after you, Lothíriel."

That instantly took away the bite of her fury. There was no insincerity in the eyes or the voice of her brother.

"Why didn't you just tell me the truth when you came?" Lothíriel asked, softer this time.

"I... I don't know", he answered. "I wasn't really thinking, and there was all this hassle with the goods we brought. And I didn't expect you to be angry..."

"Well, do you think Aredhel or Fainien wouldn't be angry if they were forced away from their family?" inquired the princess.

"No. No, I don't think that", Amrothos mumbled. "But you don't love Lord Marshal like Aredhel and Fainien love our brothers, do you?"

* * *

The door opened.

"Lady wife, I fear I must-" came the voice of Éomer as he strode in, but as soon as he had entered, he took note of the varying expressions on the faces of those in room – but though they might attest to different reactions, all of them alarmed her husband that some conversation of importance had been taking place. So, a frown came to his face, and his dark eyes narrowed in something resembling doubt. He looked like he would have said something, but Lothíriel then decided it was a time to bring an end to this scene.

"Now, if you people would be kind enough to remove yourselves. I need to talk with my lord husband", she announced, controlling her voice carefully. Amrothos exited readily enough, and looked relieved as he did, but Elric was still in the middle of his wide-eyed wonder and only moved at the urging of Éowyn. Once all had left, Éomer gave the princess a curious look.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I'll explain in a moment. Just... how did it go with your uncle?" Lothíriel asked. She really needed a moment to have her thoughts in order again.

Her husband grimaced then.

"It went in no way at all. Meaning, he would not receive me", he muttered darkly. "I didn't return right away, as Théodred wished to speak with me."

At the sight of her expression, he lifted a hand, and said, "Don't worry, though. That warg of a hound won't come close to Elfhild again. Nor you, or Elric for that matter."

"Of course", she said quietly. She wrapped her arms about her Marshal, and he held her for a while before they spoke again.

"Now, what precisely was happening here before I came?" he asked after Lothíriel had checked on Elfhild and they had sat down. The princess frowned at first, and then began explaining the situation. He listened quietly, and that fierce irritable look came to his face that he always wore when he was greatly annoyed but was trying to hold back.

"And would you go with him, if it came to that?" Éomer asked at last, when she had finished telling just what it was that had Amrothos staying in Aldburg.

"Of course not – I told him as much, too", Lothíriel answered and reached for his hand. His fingers curled about hers, and she thought there was something sad in his eyes then.

"Why not? It would be an easy way out, at least", he said softly.

"No", she argued. "Not easy."

"How so?" asked her husband, tilting his head and looking at her with some confusion.

"I... I do not think it would be so easy to leave you behind", Lothíriel said quietly. She let out a desperate little laugh, "For one, I'd worry myself to death. Wonder if you were fine, if you remember to eat and rest properly, and if you were pushing yourself too hard."

"Aye. You would do that", he agreed, giving her a smile that was probably supposed to cheer up them both.

Quietly, Lothíriel brought his fingers to her lips, and kissed them. Then she looked up at him seriously.

"I see it now, Éomer. My place is here – with you."

* * *

The night of Yule was chilly – so chilly, in fact, that there might later even be some snow. Inside the Golden Hall it was warm however, and even somewhat festive, as if the people were desperate to try and find what light in this world they could.

Like Lothíriel had suspected, the celebrations were grander than they had been back in Aldburg last year. Riders of high stature, along with their wives and families, had come to attend to the feast, and even small folk had come to visit markets. As such, Edoras was bustling with life that was strangely in contradiction of all the shadows of late.

Looking around herself, it was yet again odd to realise how long she had lived in this land already... this was her second Yule here, and many things had changed since then... but others were the same.

When her husband went to tell Elric that the boy should already be in bed, she rested a hand on her belly, and sighed.

It had been an eventful Yule so far. Dangerous situation, truths revealed, and some things yet left unspoken... but at least a peace had been made with Amrothos. Though neither herself or her husband appreciated his secrecy, they both eventually agreed that there was only concern behind it. Perhaps it was misinformed and showed if anything that her family Dol Amroth had yet to let go of her. But as Amrothos had recognised he – and Father – had done wrong and he had apologised, Lothíriel decided to let it go. And anyway, she had never been able to find it in herself to be too angry with him for a long time. This was not a time for dispute.

And so they had agreed he'd stay for a month or so still, and then go home; hopefully by then what injured trusts remained would be healed.

Hrodgar had grumbled about it, but he rarely did anything else, and she had told him to relax. As for Elric, he had informed Amrothos very emphatically that if he tried to steal Lothíriel and Elfhild, the boy would personally come after the prince. Even after that he had remained kind of suspicious of Amroths – with whom he had gotten along rather well before – but when his father had gifted him with a foal of his own, Elric had practically forgotten about everything else.

"It's a high time you start raising your own horse", Éomer had said; the father and the son had worn grins so identical that it was kind of amusing.

"What are you going to call him?" Lothíriel had asked the boy.

"I'll have to think about it. You can't give your horse just any name, Lothíriel", Elric had answered solemnly; after he had saved Elfhild, it seemed silly to continue with "my ladies" and "princesses".

"And here we have the makings of a fine horseman!" Éomer had said to that, resting his hands on his son's shoulders and wearing a proud face that only a father was wont to. It was good to see him on such a good mood, as not many things lately had such effect.

"He's your son, brother. What else did you expect?" Éowyn had said, and then asked Lothíriel to accompany her. As they were ladies of the House of Eorl, the tradition required them serve drinks to all the highest-ranking guests, and Éowyn wanted to prepare the princess for what was to come.

It all went well, as she had more or less gotten used to similar duties in Aldburg; she only had to follow Éowyn's lead, and the older woman glided through the task with effortless grace. The unpleasant task of serving a drink to Gríma Wormtongue fell on Lothíriel, but she gave him the sweetest smile she could summon while thinking of stabbing him (which made smiling easier, surprisingly, though she afterwards felt a bit nauseous for such thoughts).

The feast itself rolled from that, and finally a time for dancing had come. Lothíriel herself wasn't too sure if she wanted to try that as she was feeling somewhat heavy at the moment, and so she went along to find her husband.

Éomer stood outside, at the edge of the stone terrace, and staring off to distance. He glanced at her when she came to stand beside him and took his hand in hers. Briefly, the troubled look on his face gave way for a smile.

"What is it, Éomer?" she asked. "You've been wearing that look all day when you think no one sees."

"How do you know?" he asked back and pulled her to his side, evidently to keep her warm against the chill.

"I'm your wife. Of course I know", she told him with a half of a smile. He answered that faintly and kissed her brow. But then a look of sadness came to his face.

"I spoke to uncle today", he said quietly, "but it seemed he didn't even recognise me."

Knowing what an important role Théoden King had in her husband's life, she knew how must it have hurt. She wrapped an arm about his waist.

"I'm really sorry", she said softly, though that felt inadequate. "I wish I could somehow make it better."

"Lothíriel, if you could somehow do that and change the state of things, you wouldn't be..." he started, but then fell silent and hesitated.

"I wouldn't be what?" she asked, wondering what was going on in his mind.

"Nevermind", he muttered and pulled her against himself, and she held him tight.

Standing there, she knew this was a moment as good as any – maybe even better. Yes. It was better than any other moment, for she could now see how much he needed something to lighten his mood.

"My dear", she said and looked up at him. "I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" he asked; she could see he was unsuspecting. But then, the symptoms had been milder this time. Knowing how much he'd like to hear this, and how much it meant for him, she smiled.

"I am with child again", she whispered.

A smile came to his face then, the one she had hoped to see, and the shadows departed from his eyes. He stood a bit straighter, as if some great burden had fallen from his shoulders.

"Already so soon?" he asked.

"It seems so, yes. All the signs point to that direction at least", she answered. "Master Cyneric tells me it's not impossible."

"I'm glad", he said, and then before she could check if it was really tears she saw in his eyes he kissed her, long and affectionate; despite all, there was at least this one moment of peace and light.

Princess Lothíriel's second year in Rohan and as the wife of Marshal Éomer was coming to an end.

* * *

Áed looked much the same as the last time Gríma had laid eyes on the man. In the bustle of Yule celebrations, no one paid attention to a Dunlending man, nor the fact that the King's advisor was seated across him in a tavern. Granted, he was robed and hooded which was probably enough to hide his identity, but the current abandon was the only reason he felt comfortable enough to run this errand. It was necessary in any case, for it was almost time for the pieces on the table to start moving, and Áed needed his last instructions before the things began to advance. The last thing Gríma needed was this man performing some solo acts in the middle of the carefully laid plan.

"So, my friend", he began at last, studying the face of the man across him. "Are you still of the mind to kill some horselords?"

Áed's eyes blazed at that.

"What do you think? My patience is growing thin. When do I get to stick my blade into that damned straw-head?" he grunted.

"Soon. I require only little more patience, and then you will have your revenge", said Gríma in a low voice. He leant towards the Dunlending man and narrowed his eyes. "Is the plan clear to you? For you should know that divergences from it will not be tolerated."

"Of course it is! You send the horselord to me, and I will take care of the rest", Áed snorted. He looked suspicious then, and asked: "But I wonder, will he really take the bait?"

Gríma smiled.

"He certainly will. It is his weakness, I understand now... he's going to come to you, once I've sent him for a wild goose chase... or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a wild swan chase", he said, allowing himself a moment of smug satisfaction, even if it was too early to celebrate. "Afterwards, you may do with the bait as you will."

That seemed to bring dark kind of pleasure to the man, and he smiled, no doubt already harbouring some wicked intentions.

"If he does come with a full éored behind him, I'm not going to be able to handle it", Áed pointed out then.

"Oh, he won't. That will be taken care of", Gríma promised.

"But how are you going to manage it? What then, after the Marshal is done? Who will bear the blame for his fall – and the reason of it?" asked the Dunlending man.

"Don't you worry about that. I have my scapegoat already. A love unrequited is quite tragic, but also sometimes destructive", said the King's advisor. "And then it will have little consequence anyway, for the doors of Rohan will be open, and there will be none left to stand in between ourselves and our victory."

A slow, dark smile came to Áed's face.

"And Rohan will be ours at last", he said, his smile widening íma also summoned a smile, and spoke nothing of what he thought.

_You just let yourself believe that. _

* * *

**A/N: **Here's an update, my dear readers! My updating speed remains regularly irregular: like I said in the last chapter's author's note, summer apparently has other ideas than writing for me. I thank you for your patience in any case!

We are now getting closer to the War of the Ring. I've tried to illustrate here the growing threat on Rohan and hopefully I've succeeded in that. If I have missed something, I'd of course be glad to hear of it. With canon as rich and detailed as Tolkien's, it is easy to forget things or just generally make a mess of it. Speaking of canon, there may very well be some movie-based things coming; not going to say what those might be, but just to give you a warning.

Now, Amrothos' reason of being in Aldburg is out in the open. I know Lothíriel's forgivance may seem quick, but I think she's kind of blind when it comes to her family, and especially her brother. She can't really be angry at him for too long. And anyway they have enough concerns as it is, so fighting with Amrothos doesn't seem like the right thing to do in this situation.

I hope I didn't go over the top with foreshadowing, but then that is not easily discerned by the writer.

Thank you for your comments, good readers!

* * *

**ETA:** Seeing **Talia119**'s comment, I realised I had left out an important clarification from this chapter (or author's note). Like she rightly noted, the matter of Éomer's request for Amrothos to stay in Aldburg was not addressed to. I would say Lothíriel already knows that Éomer has asked Amrothos to stay, so he wouldn't have to mention that. Hrodgar would know this probably too, being the sneaky fellow he is. But Hrodgar sees a lot more than gives out and here he perceives that Amrothos has some other motive for his stay. And so the task of protection appointed to him by Imrahil is brought in to light. Like he says, Amrothos himself didn't think much of it, because for him it makes sense to go and look after his sister. **  
**

As to why Éomer is upset, it's mostly because Amrothos didn't say anything about this in the first place. So while he's glad for Amrothos' presence, he's mostly just displeased because Amrothos wasn't honest when the two talked of it in the last chapter. I should have clarified this in the text itself of course, but apparently I can't remember anything these days! Anyway, thanks to Talia for pointing this out!

* * *

**SymphonicPoem - **I must confess, he kinda surprised me too. But now I'm glad that he did!

**Talia119 - **Thanks for the compliment! :)

I suppose you could say that Hrodgar wrote himself back into the story. Stubborn fellow, he is. And yes, Elric does value Lothíriel even beyond she herself understands, though perhaps here she is starting to understand just how much she has come to mean to him. Hope you like this chapter too!

**A Light in the Night - **Wow, your review really took me unawares! I am humbled and impressed to hear you think so highly of this piece. Thank you very much, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

**Ranger - **To be honest, I am kind of surprised that you think so and wonder what actually is the basis of your opinion. Really, I think your judgement of Lothíriel isn't too fair. Additionally it seems to me that you disregard her circumstances.

For one, she doesn't have the same information as the reader does. As far as the matter of Hrodgar goes, she doesn't know of any misgivings of his. What she knows is pretty much what Eadmod has told her, and according to Éomer's grandmother Hrodgar is essentially harmless if odd. Furthermore, Hrodgar has shown consideration towards her: though she doesn't know what it precisely was, he has warned her of some danger. In short, she has no reason to think that she is introducing some danger to her family by taking Hrodgar under her protection. I repeat: she doesn't have the same information as you do. Also, the point of the whole scene _was _that she literally couldn't go and ask Éomer's opinion. She had to make the choice herself. And she _did _stand up for a man she believes innocent, even when the crowd demanded his punishment. Is that not brave? Furthermore, her decision was both to protect him and to maintain peace - in other words, to calm down a crowd that could have turned into an angry mob.

Secondly, you seem to ignore two important things: her youth and inexperience. Like she thinks to herself, she has never had to do anything like this before, and she is still quite young. How is a nineteen-year-old even supposed to handle a situation where she needs to take a huge responsibility with little preparation? True, she's a princess of a high noble house, but as a writer I believed the reader would understand from her comment of not having to do anything like this before that her education has not prepared her for situations like this. Youth and inexperience may not always be the best grounds for wise decisions, but they do not equal idiocy either. In fact, I resent that idea.

Thirdly and lastly, the fact is that she has come to live in a different country and a culture, and that is not an easy situation to anyone. Though Lothíriel has adjusted to her new life, the point is also that she is trying to fit in and find her place among the people of her husband. So she's also worried of how the Rohirrim will react to her judgements - if they accept her and her decisions. Put all this together and you should realise that it's a highly stressful situation, and consider how you would cope with it yourself.

I'm not concerned with writing about perfect characters who always make perfect decisions and know and understand everything flawlessly. In my opinion those kind of characters are not even interesting to read and write about. Yes, Lothíriel is young and inexperienced and gullible sometimes, but that is because she is a flawed human character, and this way I think she appears far more realistic and relatable than if she always knew and understood everything.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

After Yule festivities, it seemed to Lothíriel that world was somehow colder and greyer. The brief moment of abandon was now over, and a new year was come; what it had in store for the Rohirrim, none could tell. But no one seemed to think it was anything good.

Éomer at least was anxious to get back to Aldburg as soon as possible, and she agreed. So, as soon as the celebration was over, she began to pack up their things and make all ready for the journey home.

But on the morning of their departure, Prince Théodred appeared on the door of that chamber which Lothíriel shared with her husband and child, and asked to talk with her. With some suspicion, she agreed, for one doesn't just tell the Crown Prince no.

Quietly, Théodred asked if she'd come out for a walk, which somehow encouraged her. If he was asking to speak with her in such a plain sight for all to see, it couldn't be anything too bad, could it? In any case she agreed and followed him out, and so puzzled she was that she never saw Dreda quietly slipping into her family's chamber.

As they made their way outside, she took note of the Prince's appearance. When Lothíriel had seen him for the first time, she had thought he looked like he had aged prematurely. Now it was even more evident: with the bags under his eyes and grey to his temples, he looked older than she'd have thought. Though he tried to smile, that look of concern – not entirely unlike the one Éomer wore most of these days – would never disappear completely.

"My lady", he began at last, when they had walked in silence for a while. "I asked you to talk with me, because I still feel like I owe an apology to you."

The princess glanced quickly at him, wondering what it was he thought.

He halted then – as did she – and continued, "My behaviour towards you has been most disgraceful, my lady. I should have shown respect and consideration for you, and understand that you are a woman of honour yourself. Really, it has been most unwelcoming and I understand now it has done nothing to make you feel more comfortable here in Rohan. I am deeply sorry for my distasteful treatment of you, and offer you my apologies once again."

Then, as soon as the words were out, Théodred bowed at her, and fell silent.

She was feeling so surprised that at first, she did not know what to say or do. Certainly she hadn't expected this. But then, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. Perhaps she should allow this abate. He was, after all, her husband's cousin.

"I accept your apology, my lord", she said at last softly. A small smile came to Théodred's face.

"That is very graceful of you, Lady Princess. I thank you for it, though I wonder if I am deserving", he said quietly. He looked away then, and sighed, and a sad look came to his face. "My lady, it saddens me, truly. I see now we could have been good friends, had I not ruined everything with my conduct."

Lothíriel did not answer right away, but rather considered the Prince's words. She tried to think of it completely out of context, and especially outside of what had happened between them before.

Eventually, she agreed. _Yes. We could have been friends. _

"Maybe it's not too late for it", she offered carefully.

A sad look, not the usual kind but somehow very unhappy, came to the face of Théoden's heir. He wound his hands behind his back and from somewhere he summoned a sorrowing little smile.

"I wish that could be true", he said very quietly, "but I do not think... my lady, my heart tells me there is not much time left now."

"Not much time left until what?" Lothíriel asked doubtfully, but he shook his head.

"No. I should not burden you with this, Princess", he said, his voice quiet and troubled. He looked down and was silent for a while, until he looked up again. "I would take my leave in honesty, and the honest truth is that you give me hope. Hope, and courage."

The princess lifted her eyebrows. She asked: "Why is that, my lord?"

"You faced the unknown and did it with your head held up high. And you found your place here in the middle of strangers. That, my Princess, is courage, or I know nothing at all. Just... stand by my cousin, and support him. I have a feeling he will need it", Théodred said. Then, before she could say anything, he bowed. "I must go now. Farewell, Princess Lothíriel. Béma keep you."

He turned and went along, and Lothíriel had a strange feeling she'd never see him again... and that he had thought so too.

* * *

The face of her husband was dark when they began their journey towards Aldburg, not at all like she'd have thought he would seem when there was the prospect of going home. He let his horse fall behind, and so he rode beside Lothíriel, who again travelled by wagon with their daughter.

"Do you want to speak of it?" she asked him softly, and the question brought a grimace to his face.

"Just the usual. I went to talk with my uncle, and walked in on Wormtongue telling him all these lies about how I'm too hungry for power, and that apparently some time soon I'm even going to challenge Théodred", he answered, trying to keep the anger in his voice at bay but not quite succeeding. "I did my best to disprove him, but..."

Éomer didn't continue the sentence, but the doubt in his eyes was enough for her.

"Did you tell your cousin of it?" she asked.

"I did. But there is an extent even to what he can do, and I fear that uncle is ever more attentive to Wormtongue's deceitful tales", he answered and glanced at her. He frowned, and continued in a still more quiet voice, "I wonder if your father had the right of it after all..."

"You mean that I should just go with Amrothos?" Lothíriel asked. Her voice nearly rose high at that.

"Perhaps you would be safer in Dol Amroth. If Uncle lets Wormtongue deceive him... there's no telling what might happen, but I do not think it too secure for you to be the wife of a man they perceive a liar and a traitor", he said, unable to hide the miserable tone from his voice.

"Théodred won't let that happen. No matter what Wormtongue says, your cousin will stand behind you", she told her husband. "And he _is _the Crown Prince, while Wormtongue is just an advisor. That has to count for something."

He was able to give a smile for her then, though she could tell his heart was not fully untroubled.

For a while, they went on in silence.

"I saw Master Metodlác as well. You remember him? He was the one who negotiated our marriage", said Éomer after some time.

"Oh, him. How fares he?" Lothíriel asked.

"He told me the King had dismissed him. He was the last one of Uncle's other advisers – and a relentless opponent of Gríma Wormtongue", said her husband. She frowned at the news.

"I'm sad to hear that. I can't say I knew the man, but I've heard only good of him", she said quietly. If even Metodlác was now gone, what would happen next? Quietly, she wondered to herself if all the news in the world were ill now. But then, she thought of the news she had herself given the man riding beside herself, and remembered what happiness it had brought him. Oh, it had been a beautiful night...

She rested a hand on her stomach, over the place where the baby was growing. Éomer noticed and looked at her, his brow knitting.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked.

"I am. Just thinking of the little one... do you think it's a boy this time?" she asked softly. He smiled again, but now it was of more genuine sort.

"I don't know. But I am happy either way", he told her.

"Elric at least would love to try and herd a troop of little girls", Lothíriel said, hoping to cheer up the atmosphere a bit.

"An entire troop?" asked her husband in mock astonishment. "You would have me age prematurely?"

"Hmph. I don't think anything could rob you of your endless energy, dearest husband", she answered and gave him a sweet smile. He answered that just as sweetly.

"I'm quite certain that a troop of little girls with your temperament would very quickly do that", Éomer said. Lothíriel rolled her eyes, and would have thought of some biting remark, but Elfhild woke up then and demanded her attention.

Nonetheless, the look on the face of her husband was not so dark anymore, and she allowed herself a pleased smile.

* * *

After their trip to Edoras, Elfhild caught a cold: apparently the attempt to keep the child warm during the travel had been in vain.

It was a stressful time, even without the little one's illness. Théoden King's health was ailing fast, which made Gríma Wormtongue ever more powerful. And the struggles in the realm continued, though the Prince and the Marshal did al they could to dam the dark and prevent the kingdom from falling into ruin.

And then there was Elfhild. If she was not sleeping, she'd cry and scream endlessly, no matter what Lothíriel tried, and by the time the little one finally fell asleep, she was feeling so exhausted that attending to any of her other duties was a thought that appalled her thoroughly. Had she not had the aid of Bierwén and Scýne, the princess was fairly sure she'd have gone mad.

For one, her inability to help her child made her feel like a complete failure as a mother, but also caused her so much guilt: if Éomer was home, all he needed was rest, and with Elfhild's constant crying that would have been impossible. At least there was always Eadmod's chamber where she could take the child so that her husband could catch some sorely needed sleep after his arduous trips. But it was made worse by the knowledge that for him coming home was a moment of release from his many concerns, and when Elfhild was ill and Lothíriel so stressed, there was little peace for anyone. Even Elric, whose spirits were usually so dauntless, seemed discouraged and low.

Then, one week after the Yuletide, after Éomer had left for Edoras and Lothíriel was at her wit's end, Hrodgar ordered her to sit down and give him the child.

"My lady, if you and the little one don't have some proper rest soon, I do not think it bids good things for the one you carry now", he informed her in that gruff manner of his.

"How did you know?" she asked, so surprised that she even momentarily forgot about her worry for Elfhild. After all, Éomer and Eadmod were the only ones she had even told about her pregnancy.

"I know things, Princess. Now give me Elfhild", he practically ordered, and she mutely complied.

The soothsayer placed the child on his knee and lay one of his hands on Elfhild's chest. The little one stopped her whimpering then, and looked up at the man with wide eyes. He answered the gaze silently and sat still for a while, until he started massaging Elhild's chest with slow, gentle motions.

It did not take long for the little one to fall asleep, and when she did, her breath came evenly with almost no sign of her cough. Hrodgar's face was unsmiling, however, and he placed the child back in Lothíriel's arms. The princess herself sat confused.

"How did you do that?" she asked. For a moment it seemed that a smile touched Hrodgar's face.

"The same way I knew you are with child, my lady", he answered. "I told you I know things."

"Apparently you do", she agreed, lifting her eyebrows. "It kind of makes me wonder what else you might know."

Now she was sure she saw him smiling. The expression looked odd on his face, but it also made him look nicer... kinder, almost. She hadn't expected that.

"Let us hope you will never have to find out, my lady", he said. "If you would go and have some rest then, Princess. I can do many things men would call impossible, but if you exhaust yourself you will only hurt your baby, and then I can't help you."

"Of course. Thank you, Hrodgar", she said and gave him a smile. He nodded; the gruff look returned to his face.

"I will see if I can fix anything for Elfhild. This cold should be gotten rid of", he muttered and went along, and both Lothíriel and her daughter slept right until morning that night.

* * *

It was a picture of quiet and calm.

Éomer was snoring away softly, laying on his back and looking like he couldn't be roused from his sleep even if a band of orcs had attacked right then. Elfhild slept there beside him, safely at the crook of her father's arm. Lothíriel watched them quietly from the door, lost in observing how the cold light of February morning bathed them.

_She looks like me, _thought the princess to herself as she considered her daughter, _but she has his hair. I wonder, will the unborn one look more like him?_

Lothíriel decided she'd have liked that at least, and Elric too. She smiled then and imagined three men, all standing tall as trees... all golden-haired and strong. _The Marshal and his sons. _

She pushed away those thoughts and went to pour herself some water – daydreaming had distracted her from the taste of bile for a bit. Master Ferdbrego had said that pregnancies varied and were sometimes different from before, even for one woman. She had rather hoped that would mean things like not so much of morning sickness as when she had been expecting her daughter. But then, as far as she was concerned, pregnancy was altogether unpleasant. Even if it provided things like Elfhild.

_I love my child. _That thought shouldn't have come as such a surprise, but for some reason it did. She loved Elfhild, and she knew she'd have done anything for that little human being. Only a year ago, she had been so small, a mere infant. And now she was growing, she was already taking her first steps...

After finishing her drink, Lothíriel quietly approached the bed and sat down to watch her husband and daughter. They both looked so calm and content in their sleep, doubtlessly both wandering those sweet plains of dream where no shadow lay. She looked at her poor, burdened Marshal; he seemed so tense these days, like a bow drawn all the time. Sometimes, she had wondered in concern how she should help him and ease his way, but at last Lothíriel had understood. She – and Elfhild – simply had to exist.

Elfhild turned then and lifted her sleepy head from where she had rested it on her father's arm. She blinked her eyes, and gave Lothíriel a drowsy little smile.

"Hello, little one", she said softly in Sindarin, reaching her arms to lift Elfhild in her lap. The child settled there and let out a sigh of contentment; in her world, all was so simple and light. She had perfect trust in her parents and their protection... oh, to be so innocent herself!

Lothíriel rocked her daughter gently, and for a while she thought Elfhild had fallen asleep again.

But then...

"Na."

"What did you just say?" Lothíriel asked, looking down at her child. Elfhild was staring at her with wide eyes.

"Na", said the little one again. Then she smiled brightly, and let out a joyful little laugh.

_Nana. Naneth. Mother. _

"Oh", was all Lothíriel managed then. Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she took a long breath, pulling her child closer to her chest.

"Yes. I am Nana", she whispered to her daughter, and Elfhild laughed again.

"Why are you crying?" asked the sleepy voice of Éomer then, and Lothíriel looked up to see him sitting. Hair disheveled about his face, and looking like he was only half awake, he looked so... she had no word for it, but she felt her heart swelling with affection.

"All is well", Lothíriel mumbled. "I think Elfhild just called me Mother."

He said nothing, but got up, and crawled next to them so that he could pull them both in the safe circle of his arms. His smile, bright as the new morning, was all the answer she needed.

She leaned against the warm, solid form of her husband, and felt peace.

* * *

The rider came from Edoras a week later, only several hours after Éomer had bid farewell to his family; he had ridden east, and had promised to return home before the week had ended. Elfhild too had seemed to understand the graveness of the situation as she had hugged the neck of her father tight, and she hadn't even laughed like she usually did when Éomer gave her cheek one of his bearded kisses.

Then he held his wife to himself for one last time, kissed her long, and told her he was already dreaming of the moment he'd see her again. Before she could answer he turned and went, and the princess held back the tears that threatened to pour out.

"Fa", Elfhild had said solemnly when he had ridden away, and Lothíriel had held her a bit tighter against herself.

"Yes, little one. _Faeder_ has to go now", she said softly. "He'll come back, though. He'll come."

Amrothos had laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and the two siblings had shared a quiet look that spoke in volumes.

She was able to distract herself with all the work to be done around the house, though, and by the time one of guards came to tell her that a rider from Edoras was asking for her, it was already midday.

Accompanied by Amrothos and Hrodgar, she went along to see the rider, wondering what it might be. A cold feeling quickly came to her as she thought of all the possible situations. What if it had something to do with Éomer? But he had only just left!

The rider was one she had never seen before, and he was still horseback when she got outside. That did make her feel slightly unpleasant.

"You have news from Edoras?" Lothíriel asked the rider, somehow able to keep her voice calm even when worry ate at her heart.

"Aye. I come with the King's decree that your brother, Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, has stayed in Rohan long enough already, and should return to his own home presently", said the man as he offered Lothíriel a sealed scroll. She hardly paid any attention to it as she received it, however, but rather frowned at the man.

"I fear I do not understand. My brother has been our guest, causing no trouble to anyone. In fact he has been most helpful in the task of protecting town. Does the King have any particular reason for why he wants my brother gone?" she asked.

The rider's face just barely twitched.

"The King's decisions are his own, my lady. Or do you wish to question his judgement?" he asked.

"Of course not. I'm just wondering why I should send my own brother on his way", she said, her heart turning heavier by the moment; she didn't want to see Amrothos gone, not just yet.

"With all due respect, he is a stranger and a foreigner", said the rider dismissively.

"A stranger! He's my kin! And thus he is kin also to Marshal Éomer, and the King himself!" Lothíriel argued.

"My lady, you should flaunt the name of the Third Marshal so eagerly. Some say it is not a name to command such respect anymore", he answered.

That very nearly had her losing her temper. How dared this man say something like that? Was he completely unaware of how Éomer was struggling every day to defend this kingdom?

"Then who do people respect these days, if not those who fight for them and protect them, I wonder?" she snapped angrily, but then Amrothos' hand came to rest on her arm.

"It's all right. If Théoden King has decided so, we must obey", he said gently, though she could see he was just as upset as herself.

"At least I find some sense here. I am glad to see that", said the insufferable rider; Lothíriel briefly considered the possibility of picking up some rock and throwing it at him. "The King wishes Prince Amrothos to leave the kingdom by the end of this week. Further traffic between Gondor and Aldburg is for now discouraged."

She very nearly screeched in fury when she heard that, but now Hrodgar touched her arm as well, and she was able to hold back her displease. Taking a deep breath, Lothíriel tried to calm herself down.

"Is there anything else?" she asked with as much patience as she could muster.

"That is all, my lady", said the rider. He turned his horse then and urged it forward. She glared at his backside, thinking: _You better go. Otherwise you might find my foot stuffed down your throat. _

"Well. That was unexpected", said Amrothos at last, and sighed.

"Yes", Lothíriel muttered as they made their way back inside. She was feeling so angry that she feared she might start crying any moment now; she was already moody because of the pregnancy, and now this! "I am really sorry about this situation. It feels like you're being driven out like some unwanted visitor."

"It's all right. This is not your fault, sister", he said softly.

"Let me tell you, if that order came from the King himself, then I am Béma's horse", she said darkly. "And it feels a lot like you were just _removed, _brother."

That brought a troubled look on Amrothos' face.

"What do you think it might mean?" he asked worriedly. He cast a look at Hrodgar too, as if the soothsayer somehow had an answer. But the black-eyed man remained silent as ever, and his face did not betray what he thought.

"I don't know, but it can't be anything good", Lothíriel said. She frowned, "Only thing I can think of is that you are considered a threat."

"Threat to whom?" asked Amrothos.

"That is what worries me, brother", she said quietly. The princess sighed and then gave her brother a long, tight hug. She continued, "I suppose we have no choice. You have to go home."

"Yes", he said, sounding defeated and grim. "I wouldn't want to get you or your husband into trouble."

"I'll miss you. And what that rider said... that traffic between Gondor and Aldburg is discouraged... who knows when I'll next see you – or any of our family in Dol Amroth?" Lothíriel asked. It was starting to get hard now not to cry. Her brother saw that and hugged her again.

"We'll find some way to fix this. Father will come up with something. I promise. We Dol Amrothians don't give up just like that, do we?" he tried the cheer up her, and somehow she was able to come up with a smile.

"We don't", she agreed.

* * *

Amrothos and his knights departed early on the next morning. Before he left, he held his sister for a long while, and she asked him to give her love to the family in Dol Amroth. He did not look too happy for having to leave, but at last he pulled back and gave her a smile.

"Take care of yourself, little sister", he told her, and then he took his leave, and Lothíriel felt a stone on her heart as she watched him go. It seemed like all she did these days was sending away people she didn't want gone. Silently, she wondered when she'd see him again – if she ever would, as it was so easy to fall into dark and fateful thoughts like that these days.

But as ever, attending to her duties and caring for Elfhild proved to be the best distractions at hand.

That evening, she sat with Eadmod, and Elric was nearby with Elfhild; the two played with wooden horses Éomer had carved for them. At least this one bit of her kin was close to her, even though one important part of it was away.

"It's a pity that young Amrothos had to go", Eadmod said at length. "He's such a nice young fellow. More of a Rohir than a Gondorian, I should say."

"Well, he certainly likes his ale like one", Lothíriel agreed. She smiled then, "And he actually tried to buy Éothain's horse practically from under the man himself. I will have to ask Éomer if we could gift my brother with a Rohirric steed."

"Is he going to come back some time?" Elric asked. He and Amrothos had eventually renewed their comradeship, and the boy was just as sad to see the prince go as Lothíriel herself was.

"I hope he will, after things have cooled down here for a bit", said Lothíriel softly. She didn't know when that might be, though.

"I'd like that. And Elfhild would like that too", said the boy thoughtfully. He smiled, "Maybe he could stay here for good! He could become a Rohir for real!"

"Well, I think our father might want to say a thing or two about that", Lothíriel answered.

"Yes, my boy. Prince Amrothos has his own life in Dol Amroth", Eadmod agreed.

Elric did not seem too happy, but he nodded quietly and went back to playing with his half-sister. Though he already knew about the new baby and was evidently hoping for a brother, he was still as glad as ever to sit with Elfhild and entertain her whenever necessary (and even when not).

"Grandmother, how do you think all this will turn out?" Lothíriel asked the old woman. Her husband's grandmother gave her a small, comforting smile.

"I do not think even the wisest could answer that question", she said softly. "So much hangs on a balance, it seems to me. But long ago, my own mother told me that I should let hope guide me, and I've tried to live by those words, even when it has looked like there will be no new morning. Many a loved one I have buried, but then I have welcomed others, and loved them just as well... dear Éomer and Éowyn, and Elric, and now you and Elfhild and the one you carry under your heart. In the end, if it means anything, I think my mother was right to give me that advise. I have followed hope, and the new morning did always come."

There was something in those words that deeply touched Lothíriel, and perhaps it was partly because of how emotional she felt these days. But nevertheless she felt the tears burn her eyes. Ever so gently, she hugged Eadmod tight, and took the old woman's words to her heart.

* * *

The next morning, just after sunrise, yet another rider came from Edoras. Fortunately it wasn't the same man as last time, as Lothíriel wasn't so sure she would have been able to even pretend politeness. And anyway the rider's words were hardly the same as the ones that had sent Amrothos away.

When she came out to receive the message, the rider even dismounted, and bowed at her. He said, "My lady Princess, I've been sent to bring you a word from your husband. He asks for your presence in Edoras, and he tells you to take along your daughter and the boy Elric as well."

The princess frowned in confusion at these words.

"I thought he was away in the eastern parts", she said.

"He was, but your lord husband is a busy and fast man who rides on the wings of the wind", said the rider.

"Why did my husband call us?" Lothíriel inquired. She couldn't think of any reason, but perhaps something had happened and Éomer needed them.

"I can't say, my lady. Doubtlessly he will tell you all once you arrive", he answered. "I am named Unferth, and I was told to escort you to Edoras. Lord Marshal tells you to make haste on your way."

"Is he fine? Has he been hurt?" she asked quickly.

"No, not at all. The Marshal is hale as ever", said the rider. "I'm sure he'll explain the reason for his summons once you arrive. My lady, will you come?"

For a moment, she thought of it, but she nodded eventually. It could be something important for all she knew, and anyway one shouldn't keep one's spouse waiting. After all, she'd get to see him sooner than expected.

"I will, Unferth. Let me just make everything ready. I'll have to pack some things, and make sure everything will run smoothly while I'm gone", she said then. Unferth bowed and she turned around to return inside. Lady of Aldburg couldn't just leave like that, after all.

* * *

"I don't like it", Hrodgar muttered for what had to be at least the third or the fourth time. He was sat nearby, watching as Lothíriel packed some clothes for the travel. She'd have ridden Ǽfnung but with her pregnancy that was not such a good idea; instead, she had promised Elric could ride the mare, mostly to distract him from the disappointment of leaving Grægmanu, his own little foal. The boy had brightened up at the chance of riding Ǽfnung, and fondly to herself Lothíriel had thought: _Rohirrim and their horses. _

"Of course you don't like it", she said now to the soothsayer, "You never like half of the things I do, but that is because you're paranoid."

"These days man has a good reason to be paranoid", said Hrodgar, sounding unimpressed as ever.

"If my husband calls me, I go. It's simple as that, old man", she told him gently. "Who do I trust if not him?"

"You could trust my instinct, my lady", he answered.

"I'm sure it's nothing. We'll be back in no time, and all will be as usual", Lothíriel assured the soothsayer.

"Is that so? All will be as usual?" he asked, and his voice became hard, even unfriendly.

"It won't do to curl up in a ball and wait for the strike", she said, not letting his words discourage her. "And you will be here after all, looking after Elfhild. You'll do that for me, won't you?"

"You truly trust me with the life of your child, my lady?" Hrodgar asked. Now he sounded much softer again.

"I do. Hrodgar I do trust you", she said. But then she gave him a sharp glare from under her eyebrows, "but if upon my return I find even a single hair cut from her head, I'll feed you to a warg."

That brought that shadow of a smile to his face, the kind that was actually genuine.

"Of course. I'll watch her well", he promised. He sat up straighter then, "My lady, would you permit me to take a look at you?"

"You're looking at me right now", she pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

"Not that kind of look", Hrodgar grumbled, grimacing as he spoke.

"As you wish, then", Lothíriel said, "though, I'd like to know what do you mean by taking a look."

"If you would sit down, Princess", he offered, gesturing to a chair. She did sit down, and he slowly limped towards her. Then he lifted his hands, but let them hover above her cautiously. He asked, "If I may?"

"Go ahead", she urged. Hrodgar gingerly placed his hands on her belly. She really could not tell what it was he did but if Lothíriel had learned something of this soothsayer it was that he was not an ordinary man... and the look of concern was something that convinced her at least.

For the longest time, he remained almost unmoving, hands on those places he had put them. Then finally he moved his fingers ever so slowly and gently, and she noted his hands were very warm. She let out a long sigh, though she didn't know where that came from.

"The child is fine", he said at last, "but I would not recommend travelling just now."

"You think it would be bad for the little one?" she asked.

"No. Perhaps not. If you promise to be careful, that is", Hrodgar said, his tone very serious.

"Of course I'll be careful. I would want harm to the baby as little as you do", Lothíriel answered.

"Very well then", he grumbled, and gave a soft, weary sigh. He looked at her again and it seemed to her that his eyes were like deep wells, full of things dark but not necessarily evil. "I do not think good things will come out of your travel, my lady. But you must go your way. Perhaps there is some purpose in it that I can't see."

"Have faith, old bear", she told him gently. She smiled, "I think I'll come back home if just to astound you."

"Lady Princess would no doubt like that", Hrodgar snorted.

"Yes, I would", said Lothíriel and smiled. "Now, if we are done having this conversation, I still have to talk with Bierwén before we leave."

* * *

Leaving Elfhild behind was one of the more difficult things she had ever done, and upon their departure she also realised she had never been parted from her daughter before like this. Each day and night ever since the little one had been born, she had been there. But now, even with the knowledge that she'd come back – hopefully soon – it was not easy to say goodbye. Especially not when Elfhild called her "Nana" and looked like she would have asked her to stay if she had known the words. But she couldn't stay, and she couldn't take the little one along. Lothíriel had firmly decided Elfhild should not travel again so soon after her illness.

But after the last kiss on her daughter's bow, she forced herself to pull back; Scýne gave her an encouraging look and promised to care for Elfhild like for her own child. Hrodgar wore a look of displeasure but he said nothing, and then the princess climbed into the wagon and spent a long while just concentrating on breathing.

Travel to Edoras this time was rather different. For one the escort was much smaller – there weren't too many men to spare in Aldburg – and she didn't have to look after her daughter. Elric at least kept her company, riding Ǽfnung beside the wagon and talking lightly enough to cheer her up a little bit. She smiled in thanks to the boy, and felt grateful that her husband had such a son.

___Well, he is Éomer's child. Like the father, like the son... _

Eventually she spotted that hill on which the capital of Rohan was located. Like always, the sight of it brought her a sense of uneasiness. Thinking of the court and the atmosphere there certainly did not bring her any fond feelings, though she was glad she'd soon see her husband and Éowyn. Sometimes, she wondered how her sister-in-law managed in this place.

But as they finally came up the hill and arrived to the courtyard, she did not see Éowyn. Before, she had always been there to welcome them. An ill feeling came to Lothíriel and she wondered if something bad had happened. Éomer was nowhere to be seen either.

Lothíriel wasn't left to wonder about that for too long, however. About as soon as she had exited the wagon, Dreda strode towards them, wearing a welcoming smile. Elric grinned at the golden-haired woman and waved at her.

"Dreda! Nice to see you!" he called.

"It's nice to see you too, Elric", Dreda answered. Then she looked at the princess and bowed her head. "My lady."

"Good day", greeted Lothíriel. "Is Lord Éomer in residence? He called us here – it was something urgent as far as I could understand."

"I regret to inform you that he's not here at the moment. He had to leave again about as soon as he had sent that message yesterday. Things are rather bad in west at the moment, and he and his men are sorely needed."

"Of course", Lothíriel said, her heart sinking. She had so hoped she could see her husband. "I suppose we'll have to settle down then, and wait for his return."

"That is actually what I needed to speak of with you", Dreda said, lowering her voice. She cast a look about herself, like thinking someone might be listening. "My lady, things are going from bad to worse here in Edoras – and in all of Rohan, really. When Lord Éomer came here yesterday, he was looking really worried, and... well, he grows ever more concerned for your safety. He wishes to move you to Hornburg, where it is safer."

"I fear I don't follow you. Why to Hornburg? Why didn't he send any word of this? Where is Éowyn?" Lothíriel asked, frowning in confusion.

"I know it's quite a news on such a short notice, but I'll try to explain. First of all, he trusted a word of this only to myself and Éowyn because as you know, it s not easy to tell these days who can be counted on. That is also why he didn't send any message, as he feared it may fall in wrong hands. Éowyn would be here explaining this right now, but she is preoccupied with the King. Lord of the Mark is ill, you see, and she won't leave his side. In case that she'd be indisposed Éomer talked of this to me as well, and asked me to see you on your way in that situation. As to why he wishes you to move to Hornburg, it's because the fortress of Helm's Deep is safer than many other place in Rohan, and he'd rather have his family there at least for now. It was built by the Sea Kings of old, you see, and they had a way with stone world has not seen since. Prince Théodred is there as well, and he should look after you like his own family", Dreda explained.

The princess blinked. Well, that was a surprise. For one, she hadn't thought Éomer would decide something lie this – and even if he did, wouldn't he have wanted to see his family to Hornburg himself?

She pointed that out, and Dreda gave he a weak little smile.

"He said you'd probably think that. And he told me to tell you he regrets not being able to do it himself. But the situation truly is desperate, and he simply couldn't come himself. It's a matter of urgency after all, and he'd rest easier if he knew you were in the safety of Hornburg", she answered and reached for her purse. From there, she took a golden brooch; Lothíriel had seen her husband wearing it before, and knew it had once belonged to his father. Dreda continued, "He knew you would be doubtful and for that he asked me to give this to you as a token – that you can trust me."

Then she looked about and her brow knitted. She said, "But I don't see your daughter anywhere."

"I didn't bring Elfhild, because I had no idea that my lord husband was intending this. My daughter got ill the last time we visited Edoras, and I thought it wiser to leave her behind", Lothíriel answered.

Her words made Dreda frown. She looked even kind of surprised. But before the princess could ponder on that, the golden-haired woman spoke again.

"Well, that is a disappointment I suppose. Lord Éomer won't be too pleased", she said. "Well, perhaps he'll go and fetch the child himself. Still I should say that you ought to get going. Time is of great importance, and the sooner you get to Hornburg, the better."

Lothíriel hesitated. She remembered what Hrodgar had said, how he had been so suspicious about this. She certainly didn't feel too comfortable about having to travel to Helm's Deep without her child. As the Rohir woman offered her the golden brooch, she felt somehow uneasy, and she stared at the object in her hand... as if it signified something important she had forgotten.

But why would Dreda lie to her? She could very well believe that her husband had been in great haste, and truth was that there really not were too many here in Edoras one could trust with a peaceful heart. And Dreda had been Éomer's friend for a long, long time. She'd know how important his family's safety was.

She looked down on the face of Elric, who stood beside her; the boy was growing so tall these days, he was already past her shoulder. Though he was young he knew Dreda as well, and in his eyes she did not see anything that would tell her to disbelieve the Rohir woman's words.

And after all, she had heard many stories of Helm's Deep, even before she had married Éomer. Certainly since then she had heard enough of boast how the castle was impenetrable as long as it was defended. And Théodred was there as well, and she knew he'd guard his cousin's family if Éomer just asked of it. Really, Hornburg was a safe place, and it was not a stupid thing to go and stay there for now. Furthermore, didn't her husband's brooch prove it? It had belonged to Marshal Éomund, and as such it must be very important to Éomer. He wouldn't give it to anyone for any other reason than this. And so Lothíriel relaxed, and trusted Dreda.

The only thing that still troubled her was Elfhild.

"My daughter", she said quietly, worrying her lip. "I should go back to get her."

"No, I think you should move on to Hornburg right away, my lady. Elfhild is safer in Aldburg for now, until your lord husband can return. He'll bring her to you, Princess", Dreda reassured her.

Lothíriel spent one more moment hesitating, and then at last she nodded.

"We will go, then", she agreed.

"You should leave right away, so that you'll get there as soon as possible", Dreda offered. A look of relief had come to her face, and the princess assumed it was for fulfilling the task Éomer had left her with. "And don't worry for the escort. Lord Éomer is in west at the moment, but he said he'll come back as soon as he can. You'll probably meet him on the way there."

"Of course. We'll just water the horses and get to going", said the princess.

Less than quarter of an hour later, they set out from Edoras.

It was Silfbár's muttering about two hours later that first alarmed Lothíriel. He was talking to Wigmund, his voice lowered but still loud enough for her to hear as they were riding very close to her.

"Call me stupid if you want but this isn't right. I've been to Hornburg before and I tell you the way didn't look like this", he said quietly.

"We may be Eorlingas but you can't know the plains that well", Wigmund argued.

"I've seen some maps in the Marshal's chamber. And I never forget the place I've once seen. I tell you, if we were riding for Helm's Deep, the sun wouldn't be where it is now", Silfbár said stubbornly.

"Then where do you propose we're going?" asked the other man.

"I don't know but I don't like it. This isn't at all like the Marshal, anyway. He'd never trust his wife and son to an escort like this. Have you seen how those men ride? They may have gotten up in saddle yesterday for all they're worth", Silfbár muttered. "And anyway, if Lord Éomer's lady wife was to relocate anywhere he'd see to it himself."

A feeling of doubt blossomed in Lothíriel's breast, and filled her heart with a cold feeling. She quickly looked at her right, where Elric was riding, and his look readily told her that he had heard the words as well. He was very pale and scared, and she wanted to pull him to her, as if that would somehow solve this. But then she looked down on the brooch that she still held in her hand.

_Éomer had given it to Dreda..._ she couldn't be lying.

But then... she remembered a conversation, not so long ago. So mundane and every day it had been, and she so busy with the sick Elfhild, that she hadn't even recalled it when Dreda had offered her this object.

_"Lothíriel, have you seen that golden brooch of mine? The one with the sun and the horse?"_

Oh, what an idiot she had been! She should have known not to trust anyone else than her husband himself. And then, something Scýne had said when she had first come to Aldburg, returned to her: _"She was something of a childhood sweetheart of Lord Éomer's, and I suppose one could say she has been biding her time..."_

Dreda.

But before the full horror of betrayal and not knowing what would happen next had time to sink in, Silfbár let his horse fall beside Lothíriel.

"My lady", he said very quietly, "I believe we have been betrayed."

"Aye", she answered, "I heard you talking. And I believe you're right."

"We must move quick. We will switch places, and Wigmund will escort you to safety. You can ride, my lady? If so, they won't be able to catch you. We ride Rohirric horses, after all", he whispered to her.

"No! I can't leave you behind, or Elric", she argued.

"He rides as well. He's Éomer's son; he'll be all right. As for me... I'm glad to make this sacrifice. You're our Marshal's wife, after all, and you bear the blood of Eorl in your womb. You're more important than I am", Silfbár told her firmly.

"Silfbár..." she tried, but she couldn't find words. Tears filled her eyes as she cursed herself for not listening to Hrodgar.

"It's all right. Just tell my wife I'm sorry and that I love her", he said quietly.

What he did next was probably possible only because he was a Rider of Rohan. There was even grace to it when he lifted her on his horse. As soon as he had done that, he jumped from saddle, and Lothíriel turned the steed. Though she hated herself for leaving this good man behind, she thought of her unborn child and did so anyway, and she yelled: "Elric! Now!"

For one blissful moment she thought they'd make it, for Silfbár's horse shot forwards, and she could feel the explosive speed and strength of the steed under her... but then, a hand quick as a lightning grabbed her arm, and she was yanked back.

Lothíriel fell.

She fell before any arms could catch her, and the pain of it was quick and brutal. Breath was knocked out of her, along with what hope she had still had. In her dizziness, she could see Silfbár and Wigmund trying to get to her but then overpowered and unarmed by the company that had suddenly turned against them. It appeared that only the two of her husband's men remained loyal; those who had joined them in Edoras were serving some evil purpose.

_I am trapped. _

But as she lay there, she saw Elric, and the boy jumped down from the saddle, and hit Ǽfnung on her flank.

"Run, Evening! Run for Edoras!" he shouted in Rohirric at the animal, and Ǽfnung neighed and shot into a wild gallop, speeding to east...

"No, Elric!" was all Lothíriel managed. But the boy came running for her and his face was very grave.

"I'm not going to leave you, Lothíriel!" he announced.

Before he could say more, one of the riders escorting them slapped the boy. Elric let out a cry and fell, and she would have dashed up and towards him had not two strong hands lifted her up from under her shoulders then. Suddenly, she felt dizzy.

On the front of her, a dark-faced man stood. He wasn't as tall as the Rohirrim but he was of strong build and fierce look.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" she asked, but her words merely made the man smile.

"I assure you, it's nothing personal. Our chief simply has a bone to pick with the man who happens to be your husband... and the only way to make sure that he comes is to take away his most prized possession. Namely, his wife and children", he answered amiably.

"And what of our fate, then? What plans does your chief have for the Marshal's son and myself?" Lothíriel asked. Somehow, she was able to sound fearless.

"That remains for our leader to decide", said the man, "but I'm sure he can find some useful purpose for the both of you..."

The smile on his face terrified her. _Some useful purpose..._ thinking of that would just have frozen her with fear, and so she pushed it out of her mind, for now at least. _Éomer will come for us. He will not let these villains have their way._

The man on the front of her then looked around, "I was told there should be a small girl. Where is she?"

"Elfhild is not here, you beast!" Lothíriel snarled. She tried to struggle her arms free, but the two men who had lifted her up held her still. She glared at the man on the front of her anyway, "And I can tell that Lord Marshal will come, and he will ride you to the ground, and you will wish you never gave him a reason to do that!"

"Oh, I'm quite sure our friends in Edoras will make sure he'll be an easy catch for our chief", he told her, smiling as he spoke.

"You know nothing of my husband if you really think that", she snapped, trying for courage even if it was failing her. She spat at his face then, but that deed did not go unpunished. A hard hand slapped across her cheek, and the strike came so hard that she gave out a cry and she fell. And at last Elric was allowed to her side, and he gathered her into his lap; he was speaking quickly but she couldn't make any sense of his words.

_Éomer... Éomer... _

Then, as she saw them kill Silfbár and Wigmund, Lothíriel felt the stab of pain.

* * *

**A/N: **So I had some wine and then this happened. *twirls her moustache*

We see some characters here making rather poor choices, but I'd like to emphasise the circumstances of them, especially in Lothíriel's case. And really, without poor choices and flawed decisions there would be no stories to tell - not very human ones at least. What all of this will come to will remain to be seen, and I hope I didn't cause you, my readers, too much frustration.

You're probably wondering how things will go with Amrothos, but that is another thing that will have to wait for now. If you're at all on the timeline, you may have guessed that Théodred might not make another appearance; that would be the reason for that scene in the beginning of the chapter. In the end I did feel a peace properly made between him and Lothíriel was needed.

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**A Light in the Night - **Thanks, and glad you enjoyed! I believe this chapter is a beginnings of my answer to your wondering. :) Thanks for pointing out that typo, I'll try to fix it!

**SymphonicPoem - **Well, how does it seem now? Hope I don't get flogged for this little twist...

**Talia119 - **You make good observations - hopefully I managed to answer them in last chapter's ETA. Those remarks are definitely something I should work into the story itself, if I can. As for the rest of your review... well, I can only say: wait and see!

**not paranoid enough - **I have to say, I've grown fond of that grumpy old fellow too! :D

**kikibretagne - **That is definitely true. I'm not sure any of Lothíriel's family in Dol Amroth has really understood yet that she's not really the same anymore as she used to be. But his intentions are good nevertheless.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

At last he rode back to Aldburg. February was growing older, and the situation in the realm more dire: in this, his home was the one last safe haven, although he knew it would not long last if the storm of Isengard should be unleashed. Éomer had no knowledge of what magnitude that tempest would be or if there was a chance of survival for Eorlingas, and that made it even more troubling.

And the thing he knew for sure was that when Saruman would come, it would be with shadow and fear.

He sped up that last hill, yearning for that one moment of release that was seeing the faces of his wife and children. He'd pull them close, breathe in their scent, and think of how he did it all not for just Rohan, but for _them. _Though he fought for the Mark, it was his family that gave him the strength, more so than any motivation he had ever had before.

But when he arrived to the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall, he did not see Lothíriel. Nor was Elric there to be seen. Yet Éomer did not let that disconcert himself: perhaps she was just busy with something or the word of his arrival had not been taken to her. And Elric was probably training, too busy with his practice to come and see his father returned.

Bierwén was there however, like she always was when Lothíriel herself was indisposed. Éomer dismounted and strode to meet the woman.

"Mistress", he greeted her, "is all well with my wife? And my daughter?"

It was Bierwén's expression of confusion that first alarmed him. Indeed, she frowned and looked at him like she didn't quite understand.

"My lord, I fear I do not understand. Didn't she find you in Edoras?" she asked, which instantly made him frown as well.

"In Edoras? Why would she find me in Edoras?" he wanted to know. Now Bierwén's expression turned ever more puzzled.

"Because you called her to meet you there, my lord", she said and made the sentence sound like a question. Suspicion began to fill his heart.

"I haven't done such thing. Why would I, anyway?" he demanded.

But before Bierwén could answer, Hrodgar limped to the scene. He appeared to have taken in Éomer's expression even before entering the conversation.

"You did not call the princess to meet you in Edoras?" he asked, voice sharp and cold.

"I did not! I have been away in east, fighting orcs! How could I possibly have called her to Edoras?" Éomer snapped.

Hrodgar let out a sound of frustration.

"I knew it! I knew it!" he grumbled.

"What is going on here? Why do you keep insisting I've asked my lady wife away from our home?" demanded the Marshal. He was starting to feel panicked, and he didn't like it.

"Yesterday, a rider came from Edoras. He wanted to see your lady wife, and he told her you wanted your family to travel to our capital. She and Elric left the same day, and we thought nothing of it", Bierwén explained.

"And Elfhild?" Éomer asked. He was just barely able to contain himself.

"She's here. Lothíriel decided to leave her behind, as she thought your daughter would only get sick again", Hrodgar said darkly.

"That rider was not sent by me. I have not expressed any such wish that my family should leave Aldburg", Éomer said again, just barely able to hold himself in one piece. _Oh, Lothíriel, what have you done?_

"Then who did, my lord?" Bierwén asked. She looked very pale, and anguished.

"I don't know", said the Marshal, and cold determination filled his heart, "but I'm going to find out. And once I do, I'm not sure what I will do if something bad has happened to my wife and son."

But then a sudden hope dawned to him, and desperately he sought the eyes of Bierwén and Hrodgar. He asked, "What of her brother? Did Amrothos go with her?"

If the prince was with Lothíriel, then maybe... he had come here to guard her, hadn't he?

Bierwén shook her head, however, and Éomer's heart sank.

"No. A word came from the King only a day before Lothíriel left, ordering Prince Amrothos to leave the Mark", she answered. The hope in the Marshal's heart turned dark and cold, and he felt _fear. _

_When the swan prince comes, do not let him leave. _

But the swan prince was gone, and Lothíriel had ridden towards Béma knew what peril.

"Go, my lord. Ride fast, and bring her back", said Hrodgar; Éomer had never seen him looking the way he did then.

"I will. Béma help anyone who tries to stand in my way", Éomer growled. He leant towards the man and glared at him hard. "And you are going to keep my daughter safe. You'll watch over her, or I swear to the Valar I'll murder you and eat your heart."

"That I will, my lord. No matter what happens, Elfhild will be safe", said Hrodgar, solemn and sharp, and there was no dishonesty on his face. That moment, Éomer felt he could trust this man.

After calling for twelve of his men to depart with him immediately, he donned on his helmet and mounted Firefoot, and sped downhill. He had never ridden like he rode that day.

_Lothíriel... _

* * *

Amrothos and his company had made their way towards Minas Tirith moderately slowly. For one, it was because he felt so bad for leaving his sister on a time like this. The other reason was because he was worried for what Father would say when he returned home without Lothíriel and bringing the news of King Théoden's hostility. Well, he wasn't really scared, but Amrothos knew how Father would react.

Lothíriel, all alone in the middle of horselords... technically, Amrothos knew her husband would do everything in his power to keep her safe. But Father was Father, and nothing would ever quite satisfy him when it came to this.

He wasn't even too worried about any riders that could come across them and tell him he had worn out the hospitality of House of Eorl (ridiculous idea, really), because in the end a question remained: what else could they do than to escort him to the border? He was, after all, a Prince of Dol Amroth.

And so he and the Swan Knights had travelled slowly while he had spent most of his time in the middle of dark and troubled thoughts, wondering how his sister fared now that he wasn't with her. It wasn't that he distrusted Éomer's ability to protect her... it was just that he didn't trust other men like he trusted the Marshal. The thing about honourable men was that sometimes they were disturbingly easily tricked by those who didn't live up to same standards.

It was that reason which, ever since leaving Aldburg, told him to turn around and race back.

But he did not, and instead he kept on riding forward.

On the second night they spent on the plains, a fair way from Aldburg as they had travelled for a good part of the day and gotten far even with their pace, he saw that dream.

In it, it seemed to him that his sister was calling him. She was in distress and she was asking for help, and the tears in her eyes broke his heart. Amrothos didn't know what it was that had her so deeply upset but it had to be bad, because it was years since he had last seen his little sister crying.

After sunrise, he came out of this dream. He was gasping and sweating and trembling, and the word that came to him first was "Lothíriel."

"My lord", said a voice then, a hand was placed on Amrothos' shoulder. A knight named Arphenon was crouching beside him and looking concerned. "Is everything all right? You were tossing and turning restlessly."

"I'm fine", answered the prince. He rubbed away the last of sleep, and stumbled over to the camp fire to get some food and drink. That would hopefully clear his mind.

Still as he sat there, eating and thinking, it came to him. A dream had come to cousins Faramir and Boromir, and though he didn't know what it had meant and if Boromir had ever found the answer, Amrothos knew it had not been an idle thing.

Sometimes, important words came in dreams – words that could have all the difference. It had happened to his cousins at least.

Perhaps this was not such a grave thing, and maybe it did not have a bearing on the large scale of matters, but to Amrothos, it did bear a meaning of great consequence. It was, after all, about his sister. Perhaps he had imagined it and it was just a compilation of nonsensical images of his mind. Yet if there was even smallest chance that his sister was in danger, he knew he'd face the wrath of all the kings of men just to see that she was fine.

"My lord, is all really well? You don't look so good", said Arphenon again, and he sounded rather worried.

Amrothos looked back at the knight, and it was all clear as a day for him now. He gave the other man a long, hard stare.

"We need to go back. My sister needs me."

* * *

Éomer knew he had come too late when he saw Ǽfnung, riderless and wandering towards Edoras. He'd have recognised that animal anywhere; it was, after all, the mount of his wife.

A cold feeling came to him, something to even freeze his fury momentarily, and he wondered: _are you still alive, Lothíriel?_

And if Elric was with her...

_No._

His first instinct was to ride like a storm towards the direction Ǽfnung had come from. He should find his wife and son, and find them quick. But then his more rational side spoke: how was he supposed to find them and help them if he had no idea what had even happened in Edoras?

Bierwén and Hrodgar had said Lothíriel had been called to meet him in the capital. Surely there had to be someone here who knew what had happened... or at least where she and Elric had gone from here.

So, he grabbed Ǽfnung's reins and sped towards Edoras, hoping he'd find there some answer to this horrifying puzzle.

Éowyn was there to receive him, tall and white and strong, no matter what happened. She was the constant, in all this dark. And like she always saw and knew, she could see right away that it was wrong – that something was very badly, deeply wrong.

"Brother", she called him as he strode towards her, "what is it?"

"Éowyn", he called her, and he only stopped on the front of her. "Is my wife here in Edoras?"

For one, mad moment he hoped that maybe Lothíriel was waiting for him here. But the look on his sister's face betrayed it, and his heart sunk, dark and cold.

"No. No, she isn't", she said. "I heard some talk she was here yesterday, but that she headed west. I was with the King, so I never saw her."

"Headed west? Where precisely?" he asked and terror threatened to take him then. _West._ There were so many dangers there now...

"I don't know", Éowyn said. She could see his distress very well as he had never been able to hide his emotions from her. She touched his shoulder, "but I hear that Dreda talked to your wife before she left."

"Dreda?" he repeated the name, frowning as he did. "What does she have to do with this?"

"I have no idea", Éowyn said softly. Her face turned troubled, "It is true then, isn't it? Lothíriel and Elric are in peril, like I suspected. If only I had been able to talk with them before they left... I feared something bad had happened."

"Éowyn, I..." tried her brother, but suddenly he had no words. He looked down and tried to gather his strength, and his clarity. But it was so hard, for visions of horror were filling his mind, and all he could think of was _what if it was orcs._

For if that was so, if his wife and son had ridden into the middle of an orc party, there was no chance they would have survived.

Seeing his moment of weakness, she wrapped her arms about him and held him tight.

"They may yet be alive. Don't give up now, brother", she told him. Her eyes were bright and fierce as she looked at him then, and her voice unrelenting, "They need you, Éomer."

"Aye", he managed and took a breath, found his resolve again. He couldn't – _wouldn't_ – stop at nothing else than death.

And the survival of his wife and son could very well depend on his clarity of mind.

* * *

Quick inquiries revealed that Dreda was to be found, as usual, in the house of Master Cyneric, who was not around at the moment. She was preparing some linen for future use, but at his entrance she looked up and smiled brightly.

"Éomer! It is so good to see you. I have-" she began, but he did not give her the chance to finish.

"Dreda, what did you tell my wife and son?" he demanded to know; the question made her smile falter just a little bit.

"I fear I don't follow", she answered, voice turning softer.

"Oh, I think you do. I've been told you were seen conversing her before she left Edoras. What did you speak of? Where did she go, and most importantly, do you have any idea of why did her horse return without a rider?" he asked. It was difficult to keep calm knowing as he knew that the survival of his family could very well depend on his speed now, but he also knew impatience would not help them.

"I'm so sorry to hear that! How horrible!" said Dreda and practically dashed to hug him. She sounded like his questions hadn't even registered to her.

He didn't return the hug, which had her tensing, and he pushed her back by shoulders and searched her face. Something was wrong with her, and she didn't seem to understand that each moment he spent here standing about could very potentially eat up what time Lothíriel and Elric had left.

"Please, Dreda. You must tell me what you spoke of with her", Éomer urged her, and a note of desperation entered his voice. Indeed, what could she possibly have said to make Lothíriel decide to leave Edoras?

"It's just... she came here for you, but I told you were away, and..." Dreda mumbled, looking away.

"Dreda, she was _called _here by someone, and she came because she thought that someone was _me. _Someone deceived her into coming here and now she's gone, and if you don't tell me what you know she may very well die, if she even is still alive. And the same goes for Elric", Éomer said very gravely, needing her to see his distress and hurry to go after his wife and son.

"It must be Wormtongue's doing", she said quietly. Her face was turning more reluctant by the second, and still she would not utter a word of what she had spoken of with Lothíriel.

"Perhaps it is, and I will definitely investigate this matter to the root once I can, but now I need you to help me, Dreda", he told her, fighting for calm.

"But... isn't his our chance, Éomer? Like we always hoped? If the princess has ridden west and her horse has returned without her, then surely she can't have survived?" Dreda tried.

_What was wrong with her?! _

"Our chance to do what?" he asked with as much patience as he could muster. "You're not making any sense, Dreda."

She frowned.

"We were meant to be, Éomer. We always were, right from the beginning. Don't you see? If you let her go, we can finally have what we always wanted!" she said, eyes turning very bright and anxious.

He blinked and stared at her, feeling a bit like he was seeing a complete stranger on the front of him. How could she possibly talk of such things when his family's life was in peril?

But shouting and anger or frustration wouldn't do. He had to make her see – and understand that what he had to do was more important than any dream of youth.

"Perhaps there was a time when I looked at you and thought there would one day be such a union between us, but Dreda... those times are past, and I have changed. You have changed too. We are not the children we used to be anymore. You have to let go of me. If not for the sake of my children, then at least for your own life", he said quietly and solemnly, pronouncing each word with care. "I beg of you, Dreda. You can help me save my wife and my son."

"You love her", Dreda realised then, and a look of horrified surprise came to her face. _And she was right. _He did love Lothíriel, the woman who had come to him as a stranger and yet had somehow made her way into his heart, and made home there. How hadn't he understood this before?

"... I do", he agreed quietly. "I do love her."

Dreda bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears.

"Why? Why her? What does she have that I don't?" she demanded to know, at which he could only sigh.

"You truly think it is that uncomplicated, Dreda?" he asked, frowning at her. "She's the mother of my daughter, and she is carrying another child of mine. She is everything, and I do not know what I will do if she dies."

"She's pregnant", Dreda whispered. Horror filled her face and she'd have turned, but he took hold of her shoulder.

"Aye. She's with child and she's in mortal danger. And if nothing else matters to you, then at least think of Elric. Please, Dreda. Please help me. Help _them_", he tried once again. It was starting to become so hard to fight despair that would swallow him whole.

But at last Dreda relented. To him it looked like some heavy weight fell on her and the look her face was that of great pain. She did speak, however, and tell him what he needed to know: "The Princess and your son were riding north-west, when they thought they were going towards Helm's Deep. They believed it was because you had decided to move your family there."

"Who told them so? And why would they ride north-west instead of towards Hornburg?" he asked, searching her face for any further hint. She hesitated however, and the face he had once known so well remained a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"Wormtongue is to be blamed", she said quietly. "And... and he means you die in your attempt to save your wife and son."

He growled in anger, and would have liked nothing better than wrap his fingers about the damned traitor's neck. But that would have to wait.

"And by whose hand should I die according to his design?" he asked. It certainly concerned him that Dreda knew these things – some evil was work at here, where he'd never have expected to find it... but finding out the true extent of her involvement would have to wait as well. First, he'd go and find his wife and son.

"Dunlendings", Dreda mumbled. "I suppose they have camp somewhere north-west, and hold the Princess and Elric there."

Éomer sighed heavily and took one more moment of stillness. He closed his eyes, tried to calm his mind. He'd have to think very carefully now.

Then, as determination once again filled him and a plan formed in his mind, he nodded.

"Thank you, Dreda", he said quietly. "I am glad that you told me the truth, and I hope it will result in the deliverance of my wife and son. But once I return, we are going to have a long talk, and you will tell me everything you know. Is this clear?"

"Aye", she mumbled, turning away her face so that she wouldn't have to meet his eyes.

"Then I take my leave", said the Third Marshal of the Mark and turned, preparing himself for whatever it was he would have to do to save Lothíriel and Elric.

Two hours after he had ridden away, a rider came from the Fords of Isen.

* * *

Around sunset, the raiders came back.

Birte daughter of Barra watched them slowly make their way down into the gorge where the camp lay hidden. Though she might have her opinions about this plan of Áed's, she had to confess she was curious to see the outcome of the mission. The rumour was, after all, that Turi had been tasked with stealing a real Gondorian princess, and those were not something you saw every day. That would probably have been the case even now had the horselords not been so deeply entangled in their troubles and the war that was brewing in these lands.

She looked around the returning men but did not see a woman there, and least of all a princess. What did princesses even look like? She wasn't left to ponder on that, however, as her eyes fell on the face of a young horselord. Golden-haired and tall for a child, he could only be a rider's son. On his cheek was a large bruise, but his face was grim and defiant. _He's going to cause trouble, this one._

But then Birte saw the princess. No wonder she hadn't spotted her at first, for she was being carried by two of Turi's men on a stretcher made of two spears and a piece of cloak. She lay pale and very still and at first Birte thought they had killed her.

Apparently Áed had come to the same conclusion, for he strode fast towards the returning men, and he looked furious.

"What is this supposed to be? Have you idiots actually managed to kill that Gondorian wench?" he asked them as the two lay down the princess. The men shared an awkward glance and mumbled something, which of course made Áed's eyes blaze in fury. Not waiting for his command, Birte made her way to the side of the stretcher, and knelt down beside the young woman.

"Don't touch her!" shouted the young Rohir and he might even have attacked her, but Turi slapped him across his mouth.

"Silence, you whelp", he growled.

"Well, Birte? Is she dead?" Áed asked angrily.

"A moment, if you please", she answered, concentrating on the princess.

She couldn't have been too old, and somehow her state made her look even younger than she probably was. But pretty she was, in a way Birte would have expected a princess to be, and she had the darkest hair she had ever seen, even counting her own people. Quickly – and to her relief – she did find a pulse, though it was weak, and her skin felt cold. And there, on the front of her gown just below groin, was the reason for her condition: a large stain of blood that was still moist to her touch.

"She was with child", said Birte; her voice was not quite so shocked as she felt. "But the baby is lost, and she is very weak."

The Rohir boy let out a cry of sorrow at that, and once again Turi slapped him. This time, the boy fell to ground.

"How wonderful! The only way you fools could have made this worse is if you had actually killed her!" Áed exclaimed. "Did I not tell you not to harm the princess? Was I not clear enough when I told you to bring her here in pristine condition? And what precisely do you propose I bargain with if she dies here?"

"The horselord needn't know she's dead, chief", Turi tried weakly. "That is, if she does die."

Áed growled in outrage and grabbed his second in command by the front of his jerkin.

"And you say you don't understand my plans for this woman go far beyond ensnaring that straw-head husband of hers?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry. We didn't know she was pregnant", Turi mumbled.

The chief let out a disgusted sound and tossed the other man back. He looked at Birte then, still annoyed. He asked: "Can you help her?"

"I can try at least", she said warily, "but I can't work miracles."

"Well, get to the trying then, and pray that you succeed", Áed growled. He turned to look at two of his men, "Carry this wench to Birte's tent, and stand guard there."

They lifted the princess from the ground, and Birte would have lead them to her tent, but then a clear voice exclaimed: "Please, let me stay with her!"

It was the Rohir boy. He had dashed to the unconscious woman's side, faster than Turi who had tried to grab him.

"I swear I won't try anything or escape. I'd just like to stay with her until she's better", he pleaded; the boy's bright blue eyes were honest and desperate. And truthfully Birte feared what would happen to him if he was left on the mercy of his captors. He could be a boy but he was still of the Rohirrim.

"I could use a hand, chief", she said before Áed had time to make his decision. "And I don't think he'd have a very good chance of getting to Edoras all alone."

Áed considered it for a moment and his face did not betray what he thought. But at last he nodded.

"Fine. You may stay with the wench", he said. But then, before the boy could really relish his relief, Áed grabbed him and pulled him close. Venomously, the chief snarled, "But if you do in fact plot something, if you run away or even as much as leave that tent without a permission, I will make you suffer. As a matter of fact, that princess will pay for every misdeed of yours, and pay it bitterly. Is this clear?"

"Absolutely", said the boy. He did not look scared, or even doubtful. Indeed, the only thing Birte could see on his face was formidable determination.

When Birte made her way towards her tent, the two men carrying the princess and the boy following her, she couldn't help but wonder... that if the horselord's son was so fierce, how was the man himself?

* * *

The day after Marshal Éomer had ridden to find his wife, they came.

Three riders from Edoras, grim-faced and bearing ill words: Prince Théodred had fallen in battle and the kingdom was in great danger. Isengard had declared war on the Mark.

There was great sorrow and malcontent, as was to be expected, but Hrodgar felt a sense of understanding, as if he could suddenly see some great design unfold on the front of his eyes. Beyond the shadow and the dark and the suffering, there lay a flicker of light.

_His stars are powerful. Now I see at last... a young golden king like Eorl come again._

But that could only be if the Marshal would survive the danger he was in now, like Hrodgar's heart told him.

He was distracted from these musings then, for as the scene of sorrow and despair still went on in the courtyard, two of the riders that had come along the messenger slipped in the Marshal's Hall, wearing looks Hrodgar did not like one bit. He had never seen these riders before and he was convinced they were not Marshal Éomer's men. As quickly as he was able with his limp, he followed them, and even before he entered the house himself he already knew what would happen should he fail now.

And indeed, he did find one of the two men at the door of that chamber which belonged to Eadmod, hand on the hilt of his sword. Time was of the essence and Hrodgar cursed his weakness; if his body failed him now, there would be a merry feast for the wargs later when the princess returned. But apparently the man thought nothing of a crippled man who approached him... for though his eyes narrowed, he did not unsheathe his sword, or realise what Hrodgar was about to do.

Hrodgar was no fighter. That future had died when the horse had trampled him and left him in a broken body that never quite healed. But like he had told the princess, he knew things – he always had, even as a boy. And eventually he had made his peace with the accident that had made him the way he was... for he had found that sometimes, knowledge was a weapon far mightier than any sword.

And one thing Hrodgar knew was that energy – _feä, _like the elves called it – flowed in all bodies of Children of Ilúvatar, and there were some points in those bodies where that energy came so close that, if your hands had the skill, you could in a way touch it... you could use it for healing, or for damage.

Indeed, Hrodgar had never needed to be a fighter to have his way.

And so, as the unknown rider opened his mouth, probably to ask what Hrodgar wanted, he firmly touched that one particular point on the man's neck. It had taken years for him to be able to do this, but now he was glad for all the time he had spent learning it; for the man's eyes rolled around and he fell, effectively made harmless.

The soothsayer slipped in then with all the grace and quiet he was able to muster, not sure what he'd find there, but still pushing his hand inside the purse on his belt, searching... the powder was there, and he had come just in time.

What he saw was Eadmod covering on the front of the second man and vainly trying to shelter the crying little girl in her arms. Though she couldn't see the man she was not oblivious to what was happening.

"Please, don't hurt her, she's just a child... I beg of you!" tried the old woman.

"Let go of her, woman, or I will strike at you as well! You need not die with the House of Eorl!" growled the man – he had not yet noticed Hrodgar.

"Leave these innocents alone, rider. They are under my protection and I will not suffer you harming them!" called Hrodgar, and instantly Elfhild's would-be killer turned around. He was still gripping his dagger, which he would no doubt use to kill Lothíriel's child if he was not stopped.

"Foolish old man! You can't prevent this from happening!" growled the man and pointed at Hrodgar with the blade.

"Oh, I think I can", said the soothsayer, and pulled out his hand from the purse.

His hand was steady, his aim precise. The powder, made of some peculiar mushrooms, was brittle and dry in his palm. When he opened his fingers, it puffed like a sudden cloud... right on the front of the rider's face. In surprise, the man inhaled, and tiny particles of powder filled his nose and mouth. In grim satisfaction Hrodgar smiled. Finally, a payback for all the headache and delirious dreams he had gone through when making this powder!

That was all it took, and as the rider fell straight into what seemed to be rather horrific hallucinations, Hrodgar limped to see if Elfhild was well and unharmed.

"Who is that? Who's there?" Eadmod asked in panic, still sheltering the crying child in her arms.

"It is Hrodgar, my lady. Is the child hurt? Or yourself?" he demanded to know.

"No, no. We are fine", she answered, seeming to sense that the danger was over (though the man who had just threatened her did wail rather loudly nearby). "What just happened?"

"Someone with meaner spirit would call it witchcraft", said Hrodgar dryly. "But what is important is that Elfhild is safe."

Sounds of running feet came then, and guards led by Master Oferlof arrived to the scene. Doubtlessly the wailing of the drugged man had alarmed them.

"What devilry is this?" Oferlof demanded to know. "What has happened here?"

"This, my good Master Oferlof, is a failed attempt on the life of Marshal's daughter", said Eadmod in a strong, hard voice. Her panic had already made way to calm determination, "and it has failed only because Master Hrodgar here."

Oferlof and the guards all seemed confused as they looked from Hrodgar to the two men who would have taken Elfhild's life. One was still unconscious and the other seemed to be under the impression that he should claw his way through the floor. If the word _witchcraft _ever passed in their minds or on their lips, Hrodgar did not see or hear it, but perhaps they were just too busy being relieved that the Marshal's daughter was unharmed. The soothsayer wasn't a fearful man by nature but even he shuddered when he thought of the uproar Lord of Aldburg would raise if his folk failed to protect Elfhild.

Master Oferlof looked at Hrodgar, looking very grave, but also surprised.

"Thank you, Hrodgar. I am grateful for your actions and I have no doubt that the Marshal and the Princess will share the sentiment", he said at length. "Though I wonder what had you acting like this..."

The soothsayer could not prevent a smile entering his face.

"I don't want to be fed to the wargs", he just said. What Oferlof thought of that didn't show on his face but he probably thought Hrodgar mad. That was fine by the soothsayer in any case, for he had no interest in explaining his motivations to this man.

Oferlof looked at one of the guards, and ordered, "Go and get Scýne. I think she should maybe take care of the child for now. And get these men out of here. Marshal will want to deal with them himself."

As for Hrodgar, he was already planning of how to proceed next... and make Elfhild safe from further attacks.

_I always wanted a daughter..._

* * *

At last there was Edoras. Amrothos had never ridden like he had from Aldburg, when he had arrived only to hear that Lothíriel was gone and there was a very good reason to believe something bad had happened to her. Lord Marshal had gone after her the moment he had heard of it, but no word had come from him ever since, and a fear rested on hearts all of those who knew and loved the princess.

Yet on the face of Hrodgar there had been something almost relieved when Amrothos had exclaimed he'd go after his sister and brother-in-law; he had grabbed the man and demanded what was so wonderful. The soothsayer had smiled and told him that he rested easier knowing that the prince was going for the Lady's aid.

There had been no time for further conversations, though, and so after Oferlof had insisted they take fresh, Rohirric horses, Amrothos had hurried towards the capital of Rohan. Certainly he had not thought he'd return to this place in such a situation... or that he would be riding a steed so fine that it felt like he was actually riding on the wings of the western wind.

As he and his knights rode up towards Meduseld, most he could think of was hoping that he'd find his sister there, well and unharmed, and that he had just let paranoia take over himself. However, the grim faces he encountered on his way did not reassure him.

Something was happening in this land, not necessarily related to his sister or her husband, but it was of grave consequence nonetheless... unless, it was all connected somehow, and Lothíriel had just gotten tangled in something larger than any mortal man or woman.

He paid no heed to the surprised looks he got once he reached the courtyard of the Golden Hall. Instead, Amrothos practically flew from the saddle and leaped up the stairs, towards the pair of doors that was the entrance of Meduseld. He was only halfway there when he realised he had no idea of where he was going or what he should even do, but then fates intervened in the form of Lady Éowyn. She strode from the Hall, tall and grave and her eyes full of anxiety.

However, at the sight of him, surprise came to her fair face.

"Prince Amrothos! What are you doing here?" she asked in astonishment.

"My lady, I've come to make sure my sister is all right. Is she here? Are Lothíriel and your brother in Edoras?" he asked. Éowyn's brow knitted, yet at the same time her surprise only seemed to grow.

"No, they are not", she said, "and for that reason I can only thank Béma for your return. You see, Princess Lothíriel and Éomer's son Elric have been taken, and my brother is-"

She did not get the chance to finish her explanation, however, for at that moment Gríma Wormtongue chose to appear from inside, and he was as unpleasant sight as ever.

"I must say, I had greater expectations for the House of Dol Amroth, Prince Amrothos; I did not think you would oppose our King's decree so insolently! What excuse do you give for this insult?" asked the accursed man.

"Master Gríma, or whatever they call you, I really didn't race here just so that I could argue about this with you, but I can assure you it was not out of wanting to insult your master the King", said Amrothos, trying to hold back his frustration at having to deal with this man. "I only came to make sure my sister is well and safe. After I have seen to that, I will go as the King wishes and only ever return to this land with his permission."

"We have men on their way to reclaim the princess. Your help is not needed, Prince Amrothos, nor do the matters of House of Eorl concern a foreigner", said Gríma like he were the voice and the mind of the King. Well, he probably thought so himself already.

"But Master Gríma, as a brother to Princess Lothíriel I hardly count as a foreigner, and I am sure she and her husband the Marshal would appreciate my presence", Amrothos argued quickly. He couldn't have gone all this way just to be told by this snake of a man to go away!

"What they appreciate is no concern of yours", Gríma said coldly. Now Amrothos glared at him.

"Oh, I believe it is very much my concern. I really must wonder about your motivations, Master Gríma, for you seem to forget that my sister is a Gondorian princess and kin to Lord Denethor. He would not be too glad it if he heard that you did not use all your resources to find her. This is more than just the matter of her life – it's a matter of Rohan's alliance with Gondor. Surely you can't reject my offer of help in this situation?" he demanded.

"Like I said, all necessary resources already are attending to the matter", said Gríma. "Leave now while you still can, or I will have you arrested."

"With all due respect, I do not believe that is under your power. I'm not just some peasant you can bully into doing your bidding. I am Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth, of the House of Prince Galador son of Imrazôr and Elven-maid Mithrellas, and I demand my right to see to the safety of my sister!" declared the prince. His patience was growing thin now and he didn't know what he might do if Wormtongue pushed him any further.

But Gríma sneered as he stepped on the front of Amrothos.

"You could be the King of Númenor himself but your right to come here and bend us to your will would be just as void. You are an insolent boy and rude, and truly am I fearful if all our allies in south are alike to you!" he declared.

That did it.

"Oh, you should be thankful that it is _me _here instead one of my brothers, Worm!" he growled, and without further thought he slammed his fist into the face of Gríma son of Gálmód. The man's eyes rolled around as he fell down unconscious, and a great shout of astonishment rose among those who saw the scene.

He turned around and was met with three men, all looking like they were about to grab him. However, Amrothos fell back and sneered.

"Drop it, you! I'm a Prince of Dol Amroth and you Wormtongue's lapdogs have no business touching me", Amrothos growled, glaring at the three. "If you have complaints about my conduct, take the matter up to the Steward of Gondor, or get out of my way."

As their master was currently indisposed, they did not know how to answer, and so they fell back; way was made to the prince, and he strode down the steps, towards where his knights were waiting for him. Amrothos could feel stares on himself but he cared little for it. In fact, he was feeling grim kind of satisfaction. Father would have said it was poor behaviour to punch people, but at the moment he found he didn't agree.

Éowyn hurried back to his side then, her face pale and eyes wide.

"You are a brave fool, Prince Amrothos, and he will make you pay for what you just did", she said. Still, despite her appearance and words, there was a fierce light in her gaze. She frowned, "Is it true what you said? That they can't touch you here?"

"Of course I am. This is about my sister and that's why I don't care what that man will do. And I have no idea if that's actually true. I just came up with it from the top of my head, but those men don't know if it's true either, and that's what matters", Amrothos answered, which made Éowyn let out a helpless and slightly hysterical little laugh. He looked sharply at her, "Tell me everything, my lady."

"According to my brother Lothíriel and Elric have been taken captive by Dunlendings. Éomer has gone to find them, but he only has dozen riders with him – his original intention was to travel with haste, and so he did not take his éored from Aldburg with him when he came to look for his wife. Upon learning the truth about his wife's disappearance, he asked for some men from the King's household but his request was denied. In fact, he was altogether forbidden from riding West and seeking his wife and son, but my brother would not listen. So he defied the King's order and rode forth to find Lothíriel and Elric. Nevertheless dozen men is not enough and I fear he is riding into a trap", she explained quickly.

She then took a firm hold of Amrothos' shoulder and her face became deeply troubled, "They are all alone now and you are the only one who can help them. For Prince Théodred has fallen, and Éomer is the only one who could now take up his place. I fear that someone is trying to finish the line of Eorl. Please, my lord, you must go and find my brother, and your sister."

"You needn't ask me to do that. They are my kin, and I swore to Father I would guard Lothíriel. I will go and do whatever I can", he promised, though his very core trembled at the news of Prince Théodred's death. Still, his promise seemed to bring her at least bit of ease.

"I am glad for that, my lord. But you must ride fast, and not look back. Gríma is still out and you must take advantage of that before he comes around again and sends men after you. And the lives of my brother and your sister may very well depend on how quickly you go", Éowyn said urgently.

"And if Éomer dies..." Amrothos began.

"... then Rohan will die with him, for there will be no one strong enough left to lead and fight for the Mark", she finished the sentence.

"Except for you, my lady", he said, which seemed to take her by surprise. Before she could speak, he patted her shoulder. "Worry not, Lady Éowyn. I will go and find them, and I promise I'll bring them back alive."

That seemed to bring her at least some relief. She rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a heated look.

"Ride, Prince Amrothos. Ride, and bring our loved ones home."

* * *

**A/N: **I continue twiling my moustache. Hope you readers aren't too despaired with me yet!

Writing this chapter was actually very easy - so easy, in fact, that I when I worked on it I eventually decided I had enough material for two chapters. Some scenes needed to be reworked and replaced, and it is possible I've somehow messed up with the timelines. For the writer story probably always seems more consistent than to others and all parts fit together in a way that makes it easy for one to become blind for things that don't make sense. If you can spot any inconsistencies, I'd of course be glad to know of them!

With Hrodgar's ability, I admit I took some artistic liberties and hope that it wasn't too outrageous in your opinion. _Fëar _indeed is what the elves call the spirit in the canon. I believe what he does here to the rider is just another (and malicious) form of what he did with Elfhild in the last chapter. Also, I believe we will have more information on the men who threatened Elfhild later.

As it hopefully comes apparent from the text, Éomer is at the moment riding with a moderately small band of men. He knows this is not the best course of action and we'll probably see his musings about it some time soon. What I hope to have shown is the extent of his fear for Lothíriel and Elric. In short, he's faced with the choice of standing back and not endangering himself or his men and thus leaving his family to their fate, or riding to find them and defying the odds that may not be in his favour. I suppose it could be seen as a snap of sorts after all the tension he has endured.

Here perhaps Dreda begins to understand as well what she has done, and that it has been for nothing. I should say that Éomer certainly suspects she's more entangled in things than appears, but he really doesn't have the time and find out the truth quite yet. I would imagine that the prospect of that long talk with him isn't really making Dreda too comfortable at the moment...

As for Lothíriel and Elric, we'll see more of them in the next chapter.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you all have a nice weekend!

* * *

**Sandy-wmd - **Very good points. The physical factors are just as important in the making of her fateful decisions as are the mental ones - like the fact that she doesn't have really a reason to think that Dreda would do something so malignant. As for what part Hrodgar has in this, I suppose that is only just unfolding!

**1607hannah - **I too actually feel somewhat sorry for her. I'm not sure she really understands the extent of the consequences, or if she ever really has. But perhaps some time in future she will.

Sadly, Éomer has not quite gotten to them yet, but he's on his way now.

**SymphonicPoem - **I suppose I'm just corrupt to the core! :D

**Shango Sanguine - **Thank you very much! I'm quite honoured for your compliment. And I'm truly glad if I have been able to induce such a reaction in you. It's always good to hear that people have been abe to relate to characters, and ponder what they would do in that situation, because in that case I think the writer has done his/her job.

**A Light in the Night - **Well, here's an update, and hope you like it! I admit it wasn't too easy to write that thing about Silfbár - he's only a very minor character but still.

**not paranoid enough - **I wouldn't say I was worried really, but more like thinking whether I had made her thought process transparent enough, in the context of what information she has as opposed to the information the reader has. Anyway, I agree that they should be reasonable in their own context but bad on larger scale of things. But that's just what happens when you don't know all the facts.

**Covered in Bruises –** I beg your pardon, but there is quite a difference in between being stupid/foolish and being manipulated into a situation where you have to make a decision based on little information and you have no way of telling what is lie and what is truth and who can be trusted and who not. Please remember Lothíriel doesn't have the same information as you do and in fact she has no reason at all to even think Dreda would be so malicious as to send her into a fate so perilous. And do you think that, if Dreda failed, Gríma would just wave his hand and be all "oh, so it didn't work out, better give up this plan of mine"?

Lothíriel is young and inexperienced and comes from a background that did nothing to prepare her for a game like this, and she's someone who wants to give people second chances. Some of that has resulted in good things but I'd imagine it's more realistic when it results in bad things too. This story falls into the category of drama and at least I am under the impression drama is fuelled by human interactions – and human choices with their consequences. Those tend to be sometimes good, sometimes bad, and anyone human is fallible; anyone could make wrong calculations in a stressful situation where they don't know all the facts and are played by forces and people more powerful than themselves. I stand behind my notion that regularly perfect decisions don't make a realistic story, and ordinary people can make bad choices without being fools.

Calling Lothíriel just stupid or weak is not only to disregard her circumstances and what she knows – it is to ignore that she is a pawn in something far larger than herself. But it is also to remove the sympathy from her situation, and from this devaluation there is only a short road to claiming she's somehow deserving of what happens to her – it is to put the blame on the victim. This, I find, is an unkind and unpleasant way of thinking. The question we all should ask ourselves: how do I think _I _would survive in a situation where I do not know all the facts, and am being treated like a pawn in a game played by people who don't give a damn whether I live or die?

**Katia0203 - **That would definitely be one way about it, yes. It'd be an interesting development as well, but as you probably have seen from this chapter, that's not what will happen.

**Angel of the Night Watchers - **I fear that the final conclusion will have to wait for a bit!


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

During the night, a fever had risen and she had no idea if the princess would survive. Indeed, it was this weakened state combined with fever that usually resulted in death. Though she was tired after fighting to save the Gondorian woman's life, Birte could not tell if her efforts had been in vain... darkly, she wondered whether the princess would even live until next sunrise.

The Rohir boy never left the side of sick young woman. He did whatever Birte asked him to do, and in the meantime he'd bathe the princess' forehead with a cold cloth. He'd mutter quietly, as if calling to the Gondorian – and telling her to keep on fighting.

Whatever the reason for it was, the princess did live until the morning, and she kept hanging on the threads of her life. The boy remained by her side all the time, and Birte didn't know if he had even a moment of sleep that night.

On that day, after she had delivered a report on the princess' condition to Áed, she returned to the tent. Checking the young woman confirmed her state remained weak and feverish, and it didn't look like she was waking up any time soon.

While Birte was putting her herbs and tools in order, the Rohir boy spoke to her at last. Though he had every now and then leaned down to mutter something in Rohirric into the young woman's ear, he hadn't spoken to Birte, not even once.

But now he asked: "Why is she like this?"

Birte looked up from her tools in surprise. The horselord's son was staring at her hard and unblinking, and the look in his eyes was unfriendly.

"It sometimes happens, when woman loses a child", she answered softly.

"Will she die? Can you save her?" asked the boy.

"I do what I can", Birte said at length, "but she is weak, and fever does not help her."

He let out a quiet, unhappy moan and turned back to look at the princess again. A wave of pity washed over Birte and she thought about saying something comforting. But then she decided he wouldn't probably appreciate it, and so she remained quiet.

She did bring him some hot broth later on, though, and as he quietly sat eating and trying to look like he wasn't really so hungry, Birte couldn't really hold back her curiosity anymore. Áed had said she shouldn't speak too much with the horselord's woman or son, but it wasn't his business what she did.

"Would you like to tell me your name?" she asked kindly and gave the boy a smile when his eyes sharply turned towards her.

"That's none of your business", he snapped angrily, and she fell back. Perhaps Áed had been right and she shouldn't try to talk with these people. They were captives, after all, and had no reason to trust her or like her.

"All right", she answered and was about to turn back, but then the boy spoke again.

"It's Elric. My name is Elric", he said quietly, the sharp edge gone from his voice.

"Nice to meet you, Elric. I'm Birte", she said, smiling again. The only expression he was capable of, aside from his frown, was a grimace.

"I don't think you had a minute of sleep last night. And you sit there like her life depended on it. But she doesn't look old enough to be your mother. Who is she to you?" asked Birte, studying the boy's face closely.

"She's my father's wife... the mother of my sister... and the mother of the one who'll never be born now", Elric answered quietly. At last his face betrayed something else, and a look of pain finally forced its way to his features. Again Birte felt that surge of pity; momentarily she even considered taking him in her arms, even though she didn't know if he would have welcomed it.

"I'm sorry", she said softly. "I really am."

The boy sighed, staring down at the unconscious woman.

"She never wanted to marry Father or come to live in Rohan", he said quietly. "But she wasn't given much choice. She hated me when we first met, and I thought maybe she'd never come to like me. Eventually she did, though... and then Elfhild came, and we were happy. As happy as we could be, that is."

"You're the Marshal's son", Birte said. Well, it wasn't like she hadn't known that. But somehow that only just now dawned to her – or, rather the implications and the meaning of it.

"Aye", Elric said. "And that there is his wife, and the mother of his child that you people killed. When he comes and learns of all this, he's going to send all you to the Void."

There was such cold hatred in his voice that Birte trembled. For a moment, she even thought the boy might attack her.

She sighed.

"For your stepmother's sake, I would accept it", she said quietly and exited the tent.

* * *

When she returned to the tent, Birte saw Elric had cried. She tried to look like she didn't notice. Instead, she concentrated on the still unconscious princess. There was no change in the young woman's condition, and it unnerved the healer.

She had no illusions as to what would happen to this woman if Áed got his way. Perhaps then death would even have been mercy. But if the boy was right, and his father _was _coming... Birte decided she'd rather he find his wife alive. For the Powers help them if he _didn't. _

Though he was the warden of eastern parts of Rohan and did not come to west too often, stories of the Third Marshal and his valour were not unknown to the Dunlendings. Even Birte knew of him: tall as the Sea Kings of legend, a fighter of great skill, and a foe so formidable that it was considered better to run than face him in a battle.

But stories were always bigger than the people they told of, and Áed had said the Marshal would have only few men when he would come.

"You're a healer", said the boy suddenly when Birte was in the middle of work. It sounded like an awkward attempt in conversation, and she gave him a small smile.

"Well, I suppose I am some kind of a healer. I'm not as good or knowledgeable as those you Rohirrim have, as I hear... but I know how to dress a wound and what one should drink for one's cold, little things like that. It's not much but that is our way", she answered.

Elric nodded quietly and remained silent for a while. She offered him a fresh cold cloth, which he used to bathe the princess' forehead.

"What is she like?" Birte asked after a moment of silence.

"She's... she's temperamental. Everyone seems to obey her, even Father. I don't know how she does it since she's not so big, and I think I could even lift her up if I tried. But she knows how to command. And when she's angry – oh, you wouldn't believe how she can shriek! She can be nice too, though she's always telling me to go and have a bath. She's really protective of Elfhild and she likes to banter with Father. She likes to laugh too, though she doesn't do that so much these days", Elric answered slowly, and at times he'd smile and then look suddenly very sad. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I think Father loves her. I've seen how he looks at her sometimes. I love her too, but not the same way. I suppose it's what... what I would feel for my mother. She _is _my mother."

There was such vulnerability in the boy's voice and she could see he might start crying again, so Birte quickly tried to think of something to distract him.

"She sounds like a nice woman", she said softly. "I promise I'll do my best to save her."

At that, Elric looked up, and there was confusion in his eyes then.

"Why are you helping her? Why are you helping _us?" _he wanted to know.

"Because that's why I became a healer. I wanted to ease at least a bit of suffering I see in this world. It doesn't matter to me if it is a Dunlander or a Rohir who suffers. And... because as long as you stay here with me, according to our law you're untouchable. Healer's protection is serious matter", she said. The boy's eyes widened just slightly.

"Do you think someone would hurt her, even now when she's so sick?" he asked.

"I'm not sure", Birte said softly. "Most of people here would know now to harm you. But others..."

She sighed to herself, wondering if this really was something to tell a child. But then, this boy was the only guardian the princess now had.

"But others what?" Elric demanded to know.

_No. Not a child anymore, _she decided.

"Áed, for example, does not hold this place sacred like the others do. It's because I couldn't save his wife", Birte explained.

"What happened?" asked the boy, but the healer decided she had said enough. So she shook her head.

"It's a sad story, and one you needn't hear to know that as long as you stay in this camp, you are never really safe. Not even in this tent", she told him. "So watch your step-mother well. She may yet thank you for it."

* * *

Surprisingly, Mistress Bierwén, Scýne, and Lady Eadmod all agreed to his plan. He had thought there would be shouting and arguments and he would be told that no, such an insane thing would not come to pass. But after the three women had negotiated with each other, they had called him in and announced that his idea was as good as any.

"And if it keeps Elfhild safe, then what more could we hope for?" said Bierwén. "It seems someone is trying to end the line of Eorl, and I do not think the attempt you prevented will be the last one."

His proposition was that the daughter of Marshal Éomer would continue to be under threat as long as this situation went on. Certainly if things went from bad to worse, and the King's nephew never found his wife and son alive, the life of his surviving daughter would be all the more precious to him... and all the more important for his opponents to end.

But the granddaughter of an old crippled man? The schemers didn't look twice at such insignificant people.

Around the town of Aldburg, there were numerous small farms, close enough the Marshal's seat to be considered adequately secure but far enough for the people to not know the face of Lord Éomer's daughter. Princess Lothíriel's handmaiden Ceola, who had been left to look after the child, agreed to play the part of the aunt of a small girl. And Hrodgar himself would be the grumpy old grandfather, who had rooted up what was left of his family and moved them closer to Aldburg.

"The Marshal's éored will continue to ride patrols in the area, so you should not be in any immediate danger. You'll have your horses, so you'll be able to get back to Aldburg quickly enough if something happens", said Scýne as she kissed Elfhild's cheek for the last time on that night they were set to leave the town in secrecy.

"You have enough coin for your upkeep?" asked Bierwén.

"I do. We should be able to earn our stay anyway. I have my skills and Ceola has her own", said Hrodgar quietly. He narrowed his eyes, "When people ask where the Marshal's daughter is, what will you answer?"

"Just that Lord Éomer left orders to take her somewhere safe", Scýne said solemnly. "I believe you three should lay low for now. Keep to your back-story, and try to avoid strangers. If something happens, we will send a word."

"Of course. Just make sure those worms from Edoras don't find us", Hrodgar grumbled. Though he had some rather extraordinary ways of defending himself and the little girl trusted into his care, even he couldn't work miracles... or stop a blade of steel, if it was aimed for his or the girl's heart.

"We'll take care of everything", Bierwén said. Her face was very serious, but then for a moment an expression came to her face that revealed just how worried she was. She hugged Elfhild for one last time. "Just... look after the little one, and keep her safe."

"Aye", Hrodgar answered quietly.

"Nana", said Elfhild unhappily; past few days, the little one had been constantly asking for her mother or father.

"Your mother has gone away for a bit. But Uncle Hrodgar here will look after you until Nana comes back", Scýne told the girl and wiped an errant tear from her cheek.

They were about to turn and leave then, but suddenly Scýne touched his shoulder.

"Just one question before you go", she said, searching his face. "Why do you do this, Hrodgar? Why did you come up with this plan in the first place?"

"Because it's the only way I can help the Princess", he answered grimly, and without a further word he, Ceola, and a little girl whose flaxen hair he had dyed black, started their journey towards unknown.

* * *

Birte had been able to convince Elric catch couple hours of sleep, though he had only agreed to it as long as he got to sleep close to the still feverish princess. The extent of boy's loyalty to the young woman was baffling... at least until she considered that perhaps his motivation to watch over his step-mother was fuelled by more things than just his love for her.

The princess herself remained mostly in the same state, though it seemed to Birte that the fever had gone down a little. But it was hard to tell, and she couldn't take that for a good sign yet. At least the young woman was still alive.

On the evening of the second day of their captivity, Turi appeared on the opening of the tent. Birte didn't much like the man, for which reason she usually tried to stay away from him. He arrived so quietly that she didn't notice him at first, and when she did, he was considering the two sleeping shapes on the ground with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Birte asked cautiously.

"Áed was just wondering how the prisoners are doing. Not looking so good for the horselord's woman, eh?" Turi asked and gave her a crooked little smile.

"Well, the princess is alive yet", Birte answered coolly, "no thanks to you, though."

He scoffed at that and crossed his arms on his chest.

"Tough little wench", he muttered darkly. "You know, it's almost pity that..."

"I'm not interested in hearing your opinions", Birte snapped. "If you have no other business here, then get going."

Turi glared at her but went along nevertheless, and she sighed. Perhaps her rudeness had not been too wise.

"What a horrible man", commented Elric with some disgust. He had woken up and sat again on his usual place beside the princess.

"I suppose he's not the most pleasant fellow ever", she answered. "But try and ignore him. He won't do anything our chief doesn't tell him to do."

Elric nodded quietly. He didn't spoke any more then, but rather chose to keep up his vigilant watch beside the princess.

Birte continued with her own errands. After all, there was only so much that she could do for the Marshal's wife. For a while, she almost even forgot about her as couple of Áed's raiders came to ask her to take a look at some laceration; looked like there had been a fist fight if she could judge at all.

It was after the two fellows had gone their way that she noticed some movement at the princess' bedside. At last, she was showing some signs of waking up.

The Rohir boy had noticed as well, and quickly she grabbed the princess' hand in his own. Anxiously he called her, "Lothíriel! Please wake up!"

And then she opened her eyes, looking unfocused and out of it for a moment, until she fixed her gaze on Elric. The princess smiled incredulously.

"Éomer. You came. I thought you were dead", she mumbled and sounded so happy, but Elric's face fell.

"No, Lothíriel. It's me, Elric. Father is not here", he told her as gently as he could.

"Father", said the sick young woman. "_Father. _Why did you send me here? I want to come home!"

Her voice turned into weeping then, and as Elric did his best to calm her down, Birte could only watch in pity and concern. If the princess was so delirious...

Somehow, the young Rohir was able to calm her down, and eventually the Marshal's wife fell back into her feverish dreams. Elric himself, however, sat quietly by her side and looked so miserable that it broke Birte's heart.

"What is it?" she asked gently.

"It's all my fault", he blurted out, his voice thick with pain and sorrow. "Even if Lothíriel survives, this is all my fault. I knew Dreda was dangerous – I _knew. _But I thought she had changed and moved on! I thought she didn't want to hurt the princess anymore! I could have prevented this if I had just told Father or Lothíriel what I knew..."

A sob threatened to break out, but somehow he was able to hold it back. In agony, he continued, "And if Father ever finds us again, he'll be so angry with me, because the baby is gone and Lothíriel might not live, and Elfhild too will hate me, and... and..."

At that he was unable to continue. Elric burst into tears and hid his face in his hands, sobbing in such complete heartbreak...

Birte moved over and sat beside the poor boy. She pulled him against herself and held him as he let out his fear and doubt and pain. _He's just a boy, _she thought to herself, _brave and fierce, but still just a boy. _

"It's all right", she whispered into his hair, stroking his arm and back in an attempt to bring him at least some comfort, "Your father will come for you. He'll put things right"

Perhaps those were treacherous words against her own people, but for the moment, she did truly hope that this boy's father would come, and take his family home.

* * *

"Dreda! You better tell me right away what you told the Marshal!" snapped Gríma son of Gálmód. He was on a foul mood, for it seemed that the carefully laid plans were not going quite as smoothly as he had intended. For the moment, it was causing a headache of great magnitude.

The insufferable woman looked up from the herbs she had been handling; though he had just barged in with great noise and clatter, she hadn't even lifted up her eyes before now.

"What I told the Marshal?" she repeated, wearing a dull look that didn't convince him.

"Yes! Wipe away that stupid expression and answer the question", he demanded.

"Or you'll do what?" she asked sharply.

"You know what I'll do", he said, his voice turning cold and threatening. "So unless you want to explain the King your part in the Marshal riding away and leaving Edoras without his protection, you should answer."

Her face twitched at his words, but then she looked down on the herbs. She did answer, however, "I just told him Dunlendings hold his wife, and where I thought their camp is located."

Gríma groaned. The Marshal wasn't supposed to know that! He should have ridden into his fate unknowing and unwarned!

"I seem to recall we had a deal, Dreda. And the deal was that _you don't talk to the damned man!" _he snapped, pronouncing each word with care. She snorted as an answer.

"That was before I realised you meant to have him dead", she answered coldly. "And I never wanted him to die. Telling him what he is facing was the least I could do."

_Of course. _She loved the Marshal. Once again he had underestimated the idiocies people were capable of in the name of love, just like he had underestimated them in the case of the Marshal. For one, he had thought the order to stay in Edoras and the rejection to lend him men would hold him back long enough. But instead he had jumped on the saddle and raced away with just dozen men, and it would be a wonder now if Áed and his men could have the trap ready before the Marshal would arrive.

And that was not even all of it! Even if the man had gone faster than Gríma had meant, Áed still had the chance of taking him down as the Marshal's company was outnumbered... that was, if Prince Amrothos never found him. For the princess' brother had ridden back, and how he had known of her peril, Gríma couldn't tell. Nevertheless the stubborn, obnoxious little prince had ran after the accursed woman and her annoyingly loyal husband, and Gríma didn't even have enough men in Edoras for sending riders to fetch him back. And if he found the Marshal... Gríma tried not to think of that.

He glared at Dreda, and as much as he'd have liked to crush her right here and now like one crushes a cockroach, he knew it would not serve him in any way.

"You better pray that the plan goes through despite your little interference, Dreda. For if it doesn't, you will suffer", he informed her and turned. Indeed, it was true: the Marshal's safe return would provide this unreliable woman with all the punishment Gríma could ever hope for... for if the King's nephew survived, he'd sooner or later figure out her role in the plan.

And he would hate her for it.

"I suffer already", said Dreda softly, her voice void of all coldness she had shown before. "And nothing you could do, Master Gríma, could possibly make it any worse."

He scoffed at her words, not bothering to point out that his master had such horrors in store for traitors that she'd have run away screaming if she knew even half of it. He turned around, realising there was nothing to be done about this woman. Indeed, nothing _needed _to be done.

His mood wasn't much improved, however, for there was still the matter of the Marshal's daughter, and that of the two riders he had sent to take care of the rest of the man's family. He thought he had been very clear and elaborate when he had explained that the two men should not get caught or even be seen. He had even set the perfect occasion for them: the news of Prince Théodred's death should have distracted everyone long enough for the two to complete their task, and make sure that the line of Eorl was cut for good.

But something had happened, and Gríma had not been able to contact his henchmen in order to find out why the two morons had let themselves be caught without even completing their task. As soon as he had heard of the attempt on the life of the Marshal's daughter, he had sent riders for Aldburg. In the name of the King, he had told them send the girl to Edoras – the King's concern for his grandniece's safety was the perfect excuse. However, Master Oferlof had sent back a word that the child would not come, for Lord Éomer had ordered his men to conceal his daughter if any reason arose. And an attempt to kill her was precisely that.

Couple of threads had already escaped from Gríma's hands and he dared not think what would happen if he disappointed his master.

Yet perhaps there was still time to fix this...

Death wasn't, after all, the only way to remove a man.

* * *

The sun was rising and Freawaru was in the middle of first chores of new morrow when she saw the three strangers riding from east. At first she thought there were only two: an old man and a young woman, but eventually she spotted the small girl sleeping in the crook of woman's arm.

Many people were on the move these days, and not all of them wished well for the ordinary folk such as Freawaru and her family. But the three travellers, as they made their way towards the farm that belonged to Freawaru's kin, did not look dangerous. No doubt they had come from the east, those lands that had once been so prosperous but were now full of evil things and orcs raiding and murders in the broad daylight... but here, close to the seat of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, it was still moderately safe. Lord Éomer, as his father before him and his forefathers all the way back to the days of Eorl the Young, kept his people secure.

At last the strangers got close enough for talking, and the old man called at Freawaru: "Good morning, mistress."

"Good morning", she answered, though still slightly suspicious as she considered the travellers. The man had a stern, sharp face, but much of his features were covered by a bushy beard. His hair was dark and fell to his shoulders, and even darker were his eyes. Indeed, the black shade of them was somehow unsettling, as was the expression of them: he looked like he saw all, and knew even more. His clothing was as of any solvent peasant's, made of good and durable fabric but without unnecessary decorations. The young woman was fair-haired in the manner of Eorlingas, and blue-eyed as well. Her face was young and freckled, and Freawaru thought she was too pretty to be the man's kin. As for the child resting on the crook of her arm, the only thing Freawaru could see was a head of dark hair.

"Who would you people be?" she asked then, and as she spoke that question her husband Cenric came from the house. She instantly felt more secure, even if the travellers didn't seem like a threat.

"I'm Hygelac of Eastemnet. This is Eadgyd, a sister-in-law to my late daughter, and she cares for my granddaughter Elan", said the old man. "We ride from the evils of the east and are seeking for shelter and perhaps some work."

Freawaru glanced at her husband; he seemed to be as doubtful as she felt. Though perfectly innocent refugees weren't such an unusual sight these days, you could never tell which ones actually _were _innocent.

"And it's just the three of you? Where's the rest of your family?" asked Cenric, placing a hand on Freawaru's shoulder.

"We're what's left of our family. Others are dead. Orcs, famine, sickness – you name it. We came to seek new life", said Hygelac, and his voice was hard and bitter. He sighed then and seemed to think of something unpleasant, but when he spoke again, his tone was friendlier. "We have coin to pay for food and shelter and we would be happy to share our provisions. We can work too."

Freawaru glanced again at her husband. A feeling of pity had come to her as she had looked at these homeless outcasts, driven from their homes by the beast of war and the danger of these times. They did not look like a threat – just _lost. _

"The year has been good to us", she said softly to her husband. "We have plenty to share. And the girl looks about only a little younger than our Ceadda."

"Aye", said Cenric at length. The look of compassion was unmistakable on his gentle features; he to felt for these wanderers. He stood a bit straighter then, and said, "You're welcome to stay, Hygelac, along with your family. Our hearth should be yours as well until you are able to find a new home."

At his words, the old man smiled, and the smile brought out a friendlier face.

When Freawaru received the little orphaned girl whose eyes were grey as you only rarely saw among the Rohirrim, she thought there was something familiar about the child's face... but she couldn't tell why that was, and she decided they had made the right choice.

* * *

The painful night rolled into a morning at last.

Still the princess fought on, as if she were too stubborn to give up her life. Again it seemed to Birte that the fever had gone down a little bit, though it did not seem to her that the Marshal's wife was yet securely away from the hungry claws of death.

And Elric continued his watch beside her, eyes red from sleeplessness and his tears. At last Birte understood: his unfaltering guard was not only because of his love but also because of his guilt and his belief that he was somehow to be blamed for all this. She knew she couldn't convince him that this wasn't his fault, and so she said nothing. Yet to herself she darkly thought what an evil deed it had been to take these two as prisoners. After all, they were both innocents.

But then, ever since his wife had died, Áed had been different... and his deeds darker than she'd ever have guessed back on those years when she considered him a good man.

The day went much like the previous one. Elric would stay on his place by the princess' side, and he'd remain quiet though his expression spoke in volumes. The young woman woke up couple of times, even long enough for Birte to help her eat some hot stew and take some sips of a tea she hoped would bring down the fever.

Mostly, the princess seemed to be out of it, except for that one time late afternoon. She opened her eyes and though she had a feverish look in them, she didn't seem so delirious as yesterday. The young woman even smiled as she reached for Elric's hand.

"Your father will come for us. I know he will. Have faith, Elric", she whispered. The boy squeezed her hand.

"Aye", he said just as quietly. "Just... don't give up before he does come. Don't you ever give up."

"... no. No. I'd like to see him again", she breathed, and her eyes fluttered close again.

Birte wanted to hope the poor sick princess was right, but then she went out and saw Áed and his men leave the camp. Ill feeling came to her and she shook her head.

_That Marshal of yours will have to work some serious magic if he's ever going to make it alive, and find you... _

* * *

Lothíriel woke up only moments after Birte had gone to get them some food. The things she usually brought weren't so bad, if simpler what Elric was used to.

All thoughts of food left him, however, when he saw that the princess had come around again. He picked up her hand and held it gently, and he even tried to smile at her. He'd have liked to tell her it was difficult to stay brave all the time, but kept that to himself.

"Hello there. How are you feeling?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried or scared.

"Just tired and ill", she said quietly. She smiled at him then, weary and pale, "You're very brave, Elric."

"I just try to think what Father would want me to do", he answered softly. "He'd want me to be brave, until he comes."

"And he'd be proud of you. He will be", said the princess. She was silent for a moment and he thought she had fallen asleep again, but then she asked: "Could I have something to drink?"

Elric got up and sought around until he found a waterskin. Gently, he held up her head and helped her to drink some mouthfuls of water.

"Thank you", Lothíriel murmured. Then she shifted and winced, as if the movement hurt, and dejectedly Elric watched her. Usually, she was so energetic... but now the sight of her made him feel the regret even more strongly than before.

"It's all right. I promise all will turn out well. You needn't worry", she said gently, but he shook his head.

"It's not that", Elric mumbled. How could he tell her the truth? Yet, at the same time, how could he keep it from he?

"Then what?" asked the princess.

"I... it's just that... this is all my fault. We wouldn't be here if..." he answered, not finding it in himself to continue.

"Nonsense, Elric. None of this is because of you", she told him firmly.

"But it is!" he argued, his voice almost rising up into a cry. "Lothíriel, I knew Dreda wanted you to go away. She hated you from the beginning, and she tried to... she wanted to harm you!"

"How do you know that, Elric?" she asked, frowning at his words. Tears were now pouring down on his cheeks again; the agony of it was just too bad.

"Because she tried to make me do something bad, back before Elfhild was born. She wanted to hurt you, even then, and she would have done it if she had gotten a chance. And I knew she might try again, and so I suggested to Father that he send her away so that she can't harm you! But she was my friend and I was scared, and I thought she'd become the same old Dreda if she wasn't close to you..." Elric sobbed. "I didn't think she'd even do something like this!"

He was certain she'd be angry or disappointed with him, or that his words would have some ill effect and she'd die. But Lothíriel did none of that. Though he could tell she was crying, and though her grip was not strong when she pulled him to her, she wasn't angry.

"It's all right, Elric. You didn't know", she said at last. "She tricked all of us, and... and you're not evil to want to believe good of people. You only meant well."

"But if we die-" he tried, but she gently placed a finger on his mouth.

"We won't. I promise. We'll survive this", she said quietly.

And, as hard that was, Elric desperately wanted to believe her.

* * *

They found the bodies of Silfbár and Wigmund on the plains, not far from the abandoned wagon. The crows had already started their work on the remains of the dead, but Hafoc quickly drove the birds away from the two fallen riders.

A sense of helpless anger came to Éomer when he saw them. Though a life of a warrior and a military leader had long ago taught him that death came to all things, the sight of his fallen comrades was still a cause for grief. Silfbár had joined late Marshal Ánfeald's éored at the same time as Éomer and they had ridden together since then... they had trained together, and been good friends. Scýne would be devastated to hear of this, for he had been her brother. And Wigmund... poor young Wigmund had only joined the éored last year.

And the damned villains who had done this had not even given the two riders the courtesy of burying them!

While Éothain and Wíglic searched the wagon and found it raided – only unnecessary things had been left behind – Éomer muttered quiet eulogies for his two riders, and then ordered his men to quickly dig graves for the fallen.

"My lord, shouldn't we make haste?" asked Hafoc then.

"We're not going to leave our friends laying here as a feast for crows", Éomer said firmly. "We'll make it a temporary grave, until such time that we can come and bring them home."

The men got to the task and the site was quiet. There was none of usual chatter or laughter, but all worked in grave silence.

The Marshal himself thought of what these signs meant. Did it perhaps mean Lothíriel and Elric were still alive? Or had they too been slaughtered here and carried elsewhere? Yet sweeping around the place did not reveal anything more, and he certainly didn't find any blood that could have been his wife's or Elric's. There were some tracks that lead north from the spot, and Éomer wondered to himself why the Dunlendings had left such obvious trail for them to follow.

It had to be a trap. Thinking back on Dreda's words, he was sure it had to be so. Wormtongue meant he die in his attempt to save his wife and son, and somewhere out there, death was waiting for him. Yet he knew he couldn't turn back, not as long as his family was in danger.

If only he could turn the trap against those who had built it...

But then, as he walked about the site, a sudden gleam of something metallic caught his eye. There on the ground, partly concealed by trampled grass, he found a golden brooch... and it was not just any piece of jewellery, for it was _his. _

Once, his father Éomund had worn that in his cloak; Grandmother had preserved it until Éomer himself had become a man and given it to him. It was one of the few things he had left of his father, and so it was quite precious to him. He had been appalled to believe it was lost. But how had it come to be here on the plains?

An ill feeling came to Éomer. There was more to this than he had thought. Some dark aspect remained yet unrevealed and he didn't think it would be anything good. As he considered his father's brooch, he wondered: Dreda had said this all was Wormtongue's doing. Likely it was, for the situation reeked of the accursed man's foul intentions. But how did Dreda know that? How had she known any of this in the first place?

Éowyn had only said Lothíriel had spoken with Dreda, and made no mention of Wormtongue... apprehension filled him, cold and unforgiving. _She wouldn't do something so malicious, would she? _

But now was not a time to ponder on that, no matter how important it might be. He'd deal with Dreda and find out just what part she played in these dark events, but only when he had seen to the safety of his wife and son.

Once Silfbár and Wigmund were safely in the breast of earth and the men had marked the site of their tomb, the riders mounted again and turned north to follow the tracks left by those villains who had taken Lothíriel and Elric.

Éomer was riding with only dozen men, which had worried him ever since they had left Edoras. He had left most of his éored in Aldburg, not only because he had wanted to make haste, but as to not leave the town unprotected in these dangerous times. However, as soon as it had become clear he wouldn't get any help from his uncle, he had bitterly regretted not taking along more men. For one, he could only send one scout ahead – a man called Heming who was smaller and faster rider, and also possessed very keen eyesight – and if a battle would commence every man would be needed; he couldn't send anyone for Edoras to ask for help. In fact, he wasn't so sure any help would even come. He had no idea of what danger he was riding into, but now was too late to hesitate.

And, to make matters even worse, there was the fact that he was effectively riding against the commands of his king. But how was he supposed to just sit back when the lives of his wife and son were in peril? There would no doubt be consequences to his disobedience, but no consequence would ever prevent him from fighting for his family.

They continued riding and following the tracks left by the Dunlendings, which curved just slightly north-west. The trail had to be at least two days old, but it was so clear even a child would have been able to follow it... all the more reason to think it had been precisely _made _for him and his riders. But if they'd be able to take on the villains on flat ground or had the benefit of uphill, even a small band of riders could outsmart the situation.

Afternoon was growing late when Éothain rode to his side, wearing that same concerned look Éomer knew must be mirrored on his own face.

"We are riding closer to Isengard", he said quietly, "it's not a good way to go, not with so few riders."

"I know", Éomer said grimly, "but the Wizard's tower is still far and there are many unaccounted leagues between us. I would not think his arm has grown quite so long already that we should fear here."

"The stories I hear these days would have me believe that his arm in fact is so long", Éothain muttered. He sighed, but continued then, "We'll follow you, as we always have."

"Thank you, my friend", Éomer answered. In gratitude, he briefly touched the arm of his friend and captain. "I rest easier knowing you ride with me."

At last Éothain smiled.

"I'm sure all this will turn out just fine in some insane way. After all, you're the luckiest man in Rohan, Éomer", he commented. His words made the Marshal snort.

"What an absurd thing to say", he remarked.

"I don't know if it's so absurd to be honest. I've seen you coming out unscathed from dangers others would never have survived. If I should say, Béma has blessed you", said the captain. "Let us just hope your luck is with us even now."

"Indeed", Éomer muttered, his thoughts turning troubled again.

In the end, it was like he had suspected: the clear as day trail was designed to lead him and his men into a trap. This was confirmed to him by Heming who had been scouting ahead, and returned soon after the two men had again fallen silent.

"What news from ahead?" asked the Marshal when the rider at last halted his horse.

"I followed the tracks two and a half leagues ahead. As far as I could see they lead into a gorge, and I thought perhaps it was the location of the camp – it's sheltered and would give cover from prying eyes. But then I noticed a band of Dunlendings there, and I counted at least twenty of them. There may very well be more. All of them were carrying sharpened wooden stakes. A war party, if I ever saw one", Heming explained quickly.

"Did they see you?" Éomer asked.

"No. I don't think so. I pulled back as soon as I had seen them, and returned to report", Heming responded.

"Good. Go and join the others – I'll have to speak with the captain", said the Marshal, and the rider left the two men alone.

"If those men Heming saw are not preparing a trap for us, then I'm Eorl the Young", said Éothain as the two men retreated to negotiate what to do next.

"Aye. They have chosen their ground well. In that gorge it would be easy even for men without horses to overcome us. Grass is rather tall in these parts and it would provide them hiding places, from where they can attack us easily", Éomer agreed. Though he was anxious as ever, and a small part of him would have welcomed the insanity and chaos of a battle, he knew he had to think of this very carefully. Not only his own survival would depend on it, but also of his men, and of Lothíriel and Elric. He sighed, "Would that you were Eorl, old friend."

"Then I would have all the glory after we've cleared this out", Éothain jested, even despite the grave situation. He focused again, "We could try and go around them, and seek for the trail again up ahead."

"No. That would leave a band of enemies behind us. We have to deal with them now when we still have the element of surprise and they don't know we are aware of their trap, unless we want them on our backs later", Éomer pointed out.

"That is true. Oh, what would I give if I had even slightest idea of how many of them are there!" Éothain grumbled and scratched his beard. "What of lighting a fire to the grass?"

"Too risky. We could start a far larger fire than intended, and call for unwelcome attention. I will not have us go down into songs as men who set fire to Rohan just to get killed by orcs", said the Marshal. He groaned in frustration, "If only I had more men!"

"We can't just stop here. We have to think of something", said Éothain.

"I know that. But unless we're not planning to survive this, then we'll have to be very careful. Let me think for a moment..." Éomer muttered and turned to look away, as if the answer was somehow hidden in the landscape.

_I never told her I love her... _

He had to find his wife and son alive, and bring them home. And he wasn't going to achieve that by getting himself and his men killed.

But then...

Heming approached the two men and called up again: "Lord Éomer, there are riders coming this way."

The Marshal turned abruptly towards the direction Heming was looking at. After searching with his eyes for a moment, he too could spot the band of riders, speeding over the plains. Their direction was more or less the same as the Marshal's men had come. They were moving fast and he couldn't at first tell how many there were.

"What do you see, Heming?" he asked.

"There are seventeen of them, maybe... no, not so much. Perhaps fifteen. Their raiment is blue", Heming answered, frowning. "Who wears blue in the Riddermark?"

At first Éomer couldn't answer that, but the riders were getting closer now, and he too could see them better; it seemed to him that the riders had seen his company too.

Then at last he could see them and the realisation came at the same time as he finally spotted the face of the man who lead the band of riders:Prince Amrothos and his fourteen knights, riding here of all places, and their shapes painted against the sky like a banner of hope.

* * *

**A/N: **And here comes an update! Here we have some information of how Elric and Lothíriel are doing - they seem to be somewhat safe for the moment under Birte's guarding wing - and Dreda is perhaps starting to understand what she has done. Also things are perhaps a little brighter for Éomer and his men now that Amrothos has found them (more on that matter later). And I believe Hrodgar was quite shocked by the attempt on Elfhild's life, and this is his solution when it comes to guarding her life.

As to why Lothíriel thinks Elric is Éomer, it's merely that he looks a lot like his father and in her feverish state she actually thinks her husband has come for them.

I'm planning on going away for the next week, and I don't know how much time I'll have for working on this story, so the next chapter will probably have to wait for a while. But like before, I'm not going to abandon the story, and I hope you'll remain patient... though who knows, I have these mad nights as you have already learned.

I admit that I'm perhaps being somewhat loose on the canon timeline, but hopefully you can forgive me that. At the moment I try to follow the book timeline, though with some touches of movie canon.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**SymphonicPoem - **Indeed that will still have to wait for a bit!

**1607hannah - **That is mostly why I dared to go that road in the first place. If it wasn't canon people can have these dreams, I would probably had thought of something different. I wonder if it is something Faramir and Boromir owe to their Númenorian heritage, or their Elven ancestry through their mother Finduilas (who was of the House of Dol Amroth as well).

**Borys68 - **We'll see. :)

**Talia119 - **Yes, you were quite correct about Hrodgar's plans!

I know Dreda has been treacherous so far, but she has realised Gríma intends to have Éomer killed - which is something she _doesn't _want, like she says in this chapter. We'll probably get a peek inside her head some time soon which will hopefully clarify her change of heart. Also, I think understanding Éomer will never love her the way she'd want him to has had some effect on her mind and intentions.

**A Light in the Night - **Yes, I do think that though she has done and tried to do some very horrible things, she's not just plain evil. That doesn't justify her actions of course, or make her a good person.

**Brady - **Alas, I do agree that would be quite a turn of events.

I see what you mean, and I hope that Amrothos finding Éomer's company here and thus improving his odds isn't deus ex machina. I've tried to foreshadow and establish that before the actual instance where they actually do join forces. Also the information he got from Dreda made it so that Éomer and his riders got to the place of planned trap before he was meant to, and also knew to expect it.

**Shango Sanguine - **That is actually more or less what I had in mind when writing about Hrodgar's ability. :)

**Speaker-to-Customers -** I can only say: wait and see. :)

**Angel of the Night Watchers - **I admit I rather enjoyed writing that! :D

**shana1 **- Thank you very much! I'm honoured to hear that. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

As evening fell that day Birte stood outside watching the sunset for a while: the sky was blazing with brilliant shades of red and orange. She heard some saying that it was a sign of blood and of great victory, but to herself she thought: _whose victory? _

She didn't ask that out loud, though, but rather chose to return to the tent. As far as she could tell, the princess seemed to be faring better; Elric too had taken note of that and there was at last something resembling hope on his face. She really didn't have the heart to tell him what it would mean for the poor young woman if she _did _recover and Áed got his victory. But then, the boy firmly believed that his father would come sooner or later.

"She was awake for a bit", said Elric when Birte began preparing some tea for them. "She didn't seem so ill, but she kept asking for Father."

He fell silent for a moment and suddenly looked troubled. He said, "I wonder when he does come. He should be on his way by now, shouldn't he? Don't worry about it, though – he or his men won't hurt you. I'll tell you only ever helped us."

"I'm glad to hear that", Birte said softly. Elric hadn't seen the force that had left the camp, their sole purpose to take down the Marshal... but perhaps it wasn't so cruel to let the poor boy hope for a little while more. Elric looked at her thoughtfully.

"What do you think of this all, Birte?" he asked. "Did you... do you agree with what Áed does?"

"I'm just a healer. What I think doesn't really matter", she said awkwardly at length. She sighed then and looked down on her hands. "The only thing I've ever seen to come out of war is death and suffering. Sometimes I hope we could live with you Rohirrim more peacefully. To be honest, I don't think we're so different from each other in the end."

She expected him to argue, but the Rohir boy nodded solemnly at that.

"That is true. Surely most of Dunlendings are more like you than your chief? I think we could be friends, some day..." he said. He frowned then, "Why do your people hate us so much?"

Birte sighed at that, wondering what she should tell the boy.

"What does your father say about us, Elric?" she asked, approaching the matter from a slightly different angle. It made him frown again.

"Well, he once said that the Dunlendings are bitter because the Steward of Gondor gave these lands to the Rohirrim", he answered.

"Among our people, it is considered that we were treated unfairly. We should have liked to live on these lands, but then your people came from the north and settled here and took what we had considered ours – even if we didn't have the Steward's leave. It's a good and fertile land, and our people could have prospered here", Birte said.

"But it wasn't yours to claim. Rohan was once a part of Gondor, and Steward Cirion gave it to Eorl the Young and his people because they rode to fight for Gondor on the Fields of Celebrant", Elric argued heatedly.

"I know that, Elric. I'm just telling you what most of Dunlendings think", she answered gently.

"I'm sure Eorlingas would be happy to share, if we just were friends. Father said so once. If he were the king..." mumbled the boy, but he didn't finish his thought – not at least in words spoken out loud.

"Perhaps such a friendship could come to be", agreed Birte then. "I would like that, at least. It would be nice to see Edoras, and travel beyond... even as far as the fabled White City. Here in the north we only hear murmurs of it, and stories you dare not believe true."

That made the boy smile again. He nodded enthusiastically.

"I'd like to see Mundburg too. Father has been there once – when he wedded Lothíriel. I don't think he really liked that place, though", he said, and then proceeded to explain Birte all that he had heard of the fabled city of kings in the south, and she listened eagerly. For the White City was the place of her dreams, though she doubted she'd ever see it.

* * *

The conversation with Birte came to an abrupt end before nightfall when suddenly, noises of alarm rose outside the tent. Those noises – shouting and something like an unravelling chaos – had words dying on Birte's lips as she fell silent to listen. Her expression became concerned, but Elric didn't feel any particular fear... for perhaps this sudden outcry meant that Father was coming?

Yet even if it was because he was on his way, Birte didn't look too relieved. She looked at Elric anxiously.

"I'll go out and see what this is about. You stay here", she told him and wasted no time in exiting the tent. A part of him would have rather liked to go with the healer and see what was going on outside, but that would have meant leaving Lothíriel alone, and he couldn't do that. So, restlessly he remained by her side and fidgeted, wondering what was about to happen. Two emotions fought in him: a wild hope that perhaps his father was about to arrive at last, or that something evil was taking place outside.

Fortunately, it didn't take too long for Birte to find out the reason for the outburst. She came half-running back to the tent, looking very pale and grave.

"What is it? What's happening?" he demanded to know.

"You were right, Elric. Your father _is _coming – I don't know how he did that, because only a handful of men who went against him have returned and none of them seem capable of many coherent words", she said, speaking fast as if something important depended on her speed. "Áed has fallen and the camp is in chaos. You must stay here and be very quiet. Don't draw any attention to yourselves, not before the Marshal comes."

"What of you, then?" Elric asked, his heart beating fast with the rush of his joy and relief. Why had he ever doubted Father? He should know that he would never abandon them!

"I'll go out and see if I can keep Áed's surviving men out. I do not think they would wish well for you now that your father has beaten our chief. Once the Marshal comes, I'll bring him here", Birte answered. She turned then and rushed back outside, and Elric held Lothíriel's hand tightly.

"He's coming. Just like you said he would", he told her, though she was asleep and couldn't hear. "He'll bring us home and we'll see Elfhild again. And you'll get better – I'm sure Hrodgar at least can help you somehow, if Master Ferdbrego can't."

He was so in the middle of these comforting thoughts that at first he didn't take note of Birte's voice arguing with someone. But then the threatening, growling sound alarmed him and he sat up tense, listening...

Elric couldn't understand what was spoken, as the conversation – or argument – was carried out in the language of Dunlendings. Then again, he didn't need to understand the words to pick up panic and urgency in Birte's voice, and the threat and danger in that of the male voice. He recognised it as belonging to Turi.

Birte cried out then, and Elric guessed it was because Turi had done something to harm her; there was a sound of stumbling outside and he knew he and Lothíriel were in grave danger now. Just as Birte had guessed, Turi had not taken Áed's death too well.

Elric sprang up on his feet and quickly he scanned his surroundings to see if there was anything he could use as a weapon. But all he could see was healer's supplies, and then Turi entered, a sword in hand and a murder in his eyes.

The boy leaped in between the blissfully unaware figure of his father's wife and the Dunlending man. In a desperate attempt of appearing like a serious threat, he lifted up his fists and glared at Turi, though inside he was shaking in terror.

_No. It can't end like this – not now when Father is so near. _

"Make way, boy. Don't make me hurt you any more than is necessary", growled the man, this time speaking in Common Speech.

"You can't touch her", Elric announced in a clear, loud voice. But evidently all of this was just funny to the man on the front of him, for he laughed out loud.

"Foolish boy! How do you propose you'll stop me? While I do rather admire your attitude, I fear it won't save you now... not you, nor that wench you're trying to protect", Turi said, wearing a terrible grim smile. "Actually, you should blame your father for this. Hadn't he come, you two could have lived – Áed had plans for you, after all. But the accursed straw-head came sooner than we expected, and he knew we were there. He even had more men than he was supposed to, and all fighting like demons. Damn it! Someone must have told him to expect a trap. One can never trust Rohir, can you?"

"No, you don't have to do this – you don't have to hurt her-" Elric tried, but then the dark-haired man slapped at him once again, so hard that he fell aside. He cried out as he hit the ground.

"Now, if you would kindly shut up until I'm finished with the Gondorian here. I'm just carrying out Áed's last command, and seeing that we will have our revenge one way or another. I promise I'll show you all the attention afterwards... you don't mind me cutting your throat, do you? Actually, I think I'll save that for when the Marshal comes. I'd like to see his face when he sees your little neck slit open", Turi growled. He was far beyond any mercy now; rather, he had entered a place of mindless bloodlust where right and wrong did not exist anymore.

But his words also had the effect of pushing away Elric's terror, replacing it with a fierce will to live and fight, and to make sure this beast of a man would never lay a finger on an innocent again.

"I swear, if you don't leave now, I will kill you!" he barked as he got up again, and he might be small compared to this man and perhaps he was weaker too, but he was Marshal Éomer's son, of the blood of Eorl, and of the people of the Mark. And he wouldn't just sit by when his family was threatened.

"So your father taught you how to roar. Nice, but it is not going to save you", said Turi in contempt, and he lifted up his sword... Without hesitation or fear, Elric grabbed at the small blade that hung from the man's belt. Turi changed the way of his weapon's stroke, trying for the boy, but as lightly as he had been taught he stepped aside and dodged the strike.

Now was his moment.

"You know what else my father taught me? To _bite", _Elric snarled, and fast and precise was his hand as he stabbed the villain in neck. He stabbed once, and twice, and one more time; a gurgling sound came from Turi's mouth, and then he coughed blood. The sword fell from his hand and his feet buckled under him. He fell, let out one last gasp, and died.

Elric's breath came as gasps as he stood over the body of a man he had just killed. Father had once said that the first time he had killed a living thing he had felt cold and evil, and Elric expected to feel like that as well... but instead, all he could think of was _we're safe. _

He said that out loud.

"We're safe, Lothíriel. I'm not going to let anyone touch you", he announced.

Quietly, he picked up Turi's sword and rested the tip of it on ground. Placing hands on the hilt, he stood guard and waited for his father to arrive.

* * *

The captives they had taken from the battle-field revealed the location of the Dunlending camp readily. Their chief slain and their war party broken, the foes had no more reason to fight against the joined forces of the Marshal and the Prince. Only one rider and a knight had fallen, whereas the Dunlending band was utterly defeated, and Áed lay dead, brought down by the wrath of Marshal himself. Questioning couple of survivors had confirmed what the Marshal had suspected before: Éomer and his men had arrived sooner than expected. This was probably yet another reason for their victory over the Dunlending party.

Whatever had been Dreda's original intention, she had helped him more than she had realised. For if she had not told him where to ride and what to expect, Éomer wasn't so sure they would have gotten to Áed's war party before they were ready... or that they would have even been able to win today.

It was nightfall when they at last came to the camp: seeing to the dead had taken some time, but Eorlingas were not men who left dead, friend or enemy, for the mercy of winds and beasts.

By the time Éomer and his men along with Prince Amrothos' knights arrived, the camp was already in chaos. Some of Áed's men had escaped from the battle and slaughter and come to bear a word of defeat. Quick scan about the are suggested there was no fighting men left, not at least those who would have still continued the struggle of arms. Though it was obviously a camp of raiders, he could still see a handful of women covering in fear, watching the Rohirric riders in terror as if they were some murderers of the innocent...

The Marshal dismounted, and gave his orders. Half of the men were instructed to look for his wife and son, while the rest would gather together all the remaining inhabitants of the camp.

But then as the men rushed forward to take the settlement under control, a woman suddenly approached Éomer. She was dark-haired and -eyed after the manner of Dunlendings, her skin tanned and weather-beaten. She wasn't exactly pretty, but her eyes were bright as stars and there was kindness embedded in her features that instantly made him feel she was someone he could trust.

"My lord Marshal", she called and bowed clumsily at him, "I can take you to your family."

"They are safe?" he asked urgently, and fear hammered in the place of his heart. All the way here, he had tried not to think of things like what if he came too late, and if his wife and son were dead. But now it was getting all the more difficult, and there was a grim little voice telling him it was the only thing he could really expect, especially after the news Amrothos had brought from Edoras.

_Prince Théodred is dead. _How horrifyingly fitting would it be, if Lothíriel and Elric had perished as well!

"Come and see for yourself", she just said and turned, and he hurried after her. Briefly he wondered if this was yet another trap... if she was taking him to some yet unrevealed band of villains who were just waiting for him to walk into their midst. But then, a thought of his wife and son filled his mind again, and all he could think of was how badly he wanted to believe they were uninjured and to see them, to hold them close and make sure no harm ever came to them again...

And at last the Dunlending woman halted before a tent, and she gestured a hand towards it.

"There", was all she said, and it was everything he needed anyway. Éomer ran and he had never run like he did then... what he'd find in that tent, he didn't know. But it scared him senseless in any case. He unsheathed his sword, half expecting to have a bunch of men jump at him.

It was not swordsmen that he saw when he entered.

There in the middle of it stood his son. Battered and bruised, he looked like he had battled a band of orcs; at his feet, a dead man lay in a pool of blood. Elric's face was that of intense determination and in his hands he held a sword, which he raised as Éomer entered. However, when his son saw it was him, the weapon fell from his hands and he ran to the Marshal.

"Father!" he exclaimed and burst into tears of relief as he threw his arms about his father's armour-clad shape, and Éomer himself let his sword fall as he grabbed his child. Elric was alive! His brave, fierce son was alive, and the dead man on the ground was all proof the Marshal needed of his boy's courage.

"It's all right, son. You're safe now", he said emphatically, but then...

Then his eyes fell on the figure of his wife.

Lothíriel lay quiet and still, looking like she too had been through fire and shadow. Her lips were dry and chapped, her hair that usually was so beautiful was glued to her scalp, and her face was aglow with fever.

"Lothíriel!" he bellowed in terror as he let go of his son, rushed to her side and grabbed her limp form into his arms as he fell on his knees.

But then, even as he called her name in broken whispers, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, and an incredulous little smile came to her face.

"You came", she murmured softly. "I knew you would find us."

He couldn't answer, not in words at least, so he just let out a sound like a muffled sob. For the moment, all he could do was just to hold her close. He had meant to tell her so many things once he saw her again, but now when that moment had come his voice failed him, and he never wanted to let go of her...

"Is Elric fine? I thought I heard him fighting..." she mumbled, resting her head against her husband's shoulder. She apparently thought nothing of his very rugged state.

"I'm all right", came the boy's voice then, and Éomer's son stopped just by his shoulder. "There was a man who wanted to hurt us, but he won't touch anyone ever again."

He touched his father's shoulder then, and the Marshal took his son's hand in his own. He looked gravely up at him.

"You did well, Elric. I am proud of you", he said solemnly, which brought a small smile to the boy's face. He'd have to ask his son what had taken place here, but that could wait for later.

Then at last, having seen that his family was safe, his more practical side began to work again.

"Son, could you perhaps go and find Prince Amrothos? He would probably like to know his sister is here", he said, and Elric hurried out to find the prince.

"Amrothos is here? How is it possible?" asked Lothíriel. Though she obviously was ill, she wasn't delirious at least.

"He came back, the stubborn thing he is... I'd explain everything but I should think he wants to do that himself", said the Marshal. He gathered her against him more steadily. "Now, let us get you out of this place..."

He was about to rise up on his feet, but then she moved suddenly.

"Wait", Lothíriel said quietly. "There is something... I need to tell you before..."

"What is it?" he asked and sudden dread came to him. Dozen terrible scenes instantly filled his imagination, and he trembled.

None of them, however, was what she did say.

"I lost the baby."

* * *

The world was evil dreams and shadows. That was most of Lothíriel's recollection of their captivity afterwards. The first hours were the most terrible: the pain, blood on her hands, the horrible realisation of what it meant, and Elric's helpless terror when he couldn't help her...

But somehow, she lived, though she wouldn't have expected it. Lothíriel was quite certain this was where and when her life would end, and she mourned not only her two children, one of whom would never be born and the other who would not know her mother, but also all the years she could have lived otherwise... she mourned being parted from the man who had brought her into this land and to whom she had never told how... and yet death did not come.

She lived.

She lived, but time was a concept of little meaning. Hours merged to one another, and most of it she wasn't even sure if she was awake or dreaming. Sometimes, she'd see Elric's face above her and he seemed to be telling her something important. Other times, there was the face of a woman she didn't recognise, but the stranger didn't seem like she meant evil.

There were dreams of war and pain and sorrow, loved ones leaving and never returning, and the hopeless faces of those who had no home any longer, the faces looking up at her and expecting her to fix everything, and a pale-eyed man who regarded her and her little daughter with hatred. Elric battling a faceless man above her, the shouts of alarm, the certainty that Éomer would not get to them before it was too late. And war, Rohan burning, her home destroyed, and all the people she knew put to sword...

But not all dreams were too dark, for there were few lighter instances, of a life back in Dol Amroth and long afternoons by the sea, and then nights of gold and silver in the Marshal's Hall, voices speaking and voices singing, a little fair-haired girl calling her _Nana, _and finding her heart in the hands of one she had thought stranger.

She was taken back to a night that seemed so long ago now, back in the stables of the royal palace of Minas Tirith; the tall golden-haired man, so vivacious and full of life in the middle of all that white stone; he had found her attempting to steal horses and yet had wedded her... and the feel of his hands when he touched her, the way his sharp eyes could turn so soft, and how he would look like when he'd laugh or frown or smile, or when they made love and he'd murmur her name, and everything, the very hugeness and insanity and sorrow of Arda, seemed to make sense for one moment before it all fell apart once again.

Eventually she emerged from this tangle of dream and nightmare. When she did, it was to a voice calling her, pleading her to return through the darkness.

And for him, she did.

* * *

Elric was the one to bring Prince Amrothos to that tent where his sister was. He had anxiously waited for the moment he'd see her, and be able to make sure that she would be fine.

However, he wasn't prepared for what he saw when he peeked in that tent. His sister was there, yes, and so was the Marshal... but Amrothos instantly wondered why both of them appeared to be in tears. Surely the fact that she and Elric were alive and reunited with Lord Éomer was a happy thing?

The boy lightly touched his arm then, evidently having sensed his confusion. Amrothos looked at Elric; he too had seen the scene inside, and his brow was knit.

"She lost her baby", Elric said very quietly.

"Oh", was all Amrothos was able to produce, and he pulled back from the tent, though he felt bangs of regret for not being there for his sister when she had needed him. He'd have liked to go to his sister and tell how sorry he was, but there was time for that later. This was not a situation where he was needed. Amrothos knew Lothíriel's thoughts on pregnancies were not completely untroubled but that didn't mean a loss of a child would not hurt her... and her husband appeared to take it just as heavily as she did.

"I think we should maybe give them a moment", he decided, and the Marshal's son nodded solemnly in agreement. The Prince sighed and shook his head, and gave Elric what he hoped was a comforting smile, "Walk with me for a bit?"

"Aye", said the boy and they turned, to make their way back where they had come from. Couple of Marshal's men passed by, apparently still in the search of more Dunlendings. But as far as Amrothos could tell, the surviving warriors had probably deserted the camp already, leaving behind only those who couldn't escape or didn't dare to face the dangers of plains so close to Isengard.

"How did you find us?" asked Elric then. "And how did you beat the Dunlendings?"

"Well, to answer your first question I should probably start with the second", Amrothos answered. "You see, myself and my men have been riding all over these lands in the search of your father and his men. I don't know if it was luck or just because they took some time to rest their horses, and then spent some more time in burying those two men your captors killed, but eventually we were able to catch up with the Marshal. As soon as we got sight of that abandoned wagon, it was not too difficult to find him and his riders."

"We got to your father when he was trying to come up with a way to win against the Dunlending war party. Joining my forces with those of the Marshal evened the odds enough, and we attacked the enemy from both sides – from their behind, that is. Lord Éomer's men happened to have bows, which certainly helped... I've never seen anyone ride and shoot arrows at the same time like that before. Our attack came as a complete surprise to the Dunlendings and they went into something of a chaos. After that, it was just really a matter of finishing up. Your father took down their leader, and survivors gave in easily enough", Amrothos explained. "Couple of them gave us the directions here, and as soon as we had seen to the fallen, we rode here."

He had just finished the clarification of how his and the Marshal's company had gotten to the camp when Captain Éothain strode swiftly to them. Much like the Marshal himself, Éothain too seemed to function by endless energy.

"My Prince, where is Lord Éomer?" he asked, "I'd like to speak with him."

"He is with his wife", Amrothos answered, lowering his voice. How much should he say? But then, it seemed to him that his brother-in-law very much trusted this man, "There was... she gave him some ill news. They seemed to need a moment."

"I see", Éothain answered; what he thought didn't show on his face, but he appeared to appreciate Amrothos' judgement. He noticed Elric then, and smiled, "Good to see you, laddie. You all right?"

"Aye. I got some bruises but the other man fares far worse", said the boy. Amrothos remembered the body he had seen in the tent and looked at the boy in surprise.

"_You_ killed that man?" he asked.

"He tried to hurt Lothíriel", Elric said, frowning as he spoke. "And he would have killed me too, on the front of Father's eyes."

"What beast! You did well, my boy", Amrothos told him. He looked at Éothain then, "Is everything under control? Or should I go and get the Marshal?"

"No. Perhaps the Lady needs him more at the moment... and vice versa. I can supervise everything here, though I must say there's not much to supervise. The fighters appear to mostly have escaped before we came and I don't see the point of chasing them... it's probably more important to get the Princess safely back home. There can't be too many Dunlending warriors left anyway. As for their womenfolk, we've gathered them together and there's so few of them we should be able to escort them all to Edoras", said the Captain.

"We can't let them go? It's not like they took part in fighting", Amrothos pointed out.

"Aye, they didn't. But they're still a part of a hostile Dunlending party that caused serious mischief. We'll have to bring them to the King so that he can decide how to judge them", said Éothain.

"Did you come across a healer woman? She should be treated kindly – she helped Lady Lothíriel, and was very nice to me", Elric put in.

"No worries, lad. We don't treat our prisoners cruelly", Éothain reassured the boy.

Couple of Riders returned then to report. They spoke in Rohirric so Amrothos couldn't tell what was said, but the calm tones at least suggested everything was under control. The captain affirmed this as he turned to speak to the prince again.

"They say the camp is secured. They couldn't find any more of members of the war party. All in all there's thirteen Dunlendings – two injured warriors and the rest are women", Éothain explained. "I suggest we stay here for the night, unless something turns up. It's quite late and I think we all could use some rest. And there's certainly more shelter here than on the plains."

"I agree. But perhaps we should ask the Marshal what he thinks..." Amrothos answered, though his voice was uncertain. He didn't think his sister and her husband would really appreciate outsiders barging in right now.

Éothain looked like he would have said something, but his gaze fixed then on something behind the Prince. Amrothos turned around to see what it was, and saw Lord Éomer quietly approaching them. He carried his wife, whom he had wrapped in his cloak. She looked pale and weak, but she held on tightly to her husband and appeared to be talking to him very quietly.

"Sister!" Amrothos called out then. _Oh, Father would be furious once he heard of this... _

Lothíriel lifted up her head at the sound of his voice and gave him a tired little smile.

"Brother. I'm glad to see you", she said; her lack of surprise probably meant her husband had already explained what had happened.

"Likewise", he answered.

"My lord, the camp is secure and we have gathered together all survivors. How should we proceed?" asked Éothain.

"We'll stay here for the night. The men and the horses could use some rest", answered the Marshal. His voice was clear and determined, but Amrothos didn't miss the look of grief and loss in the man's dark eyes. He loved all his children, even the unborn... and what had happened to Lothíriel was his deprivation as well.

"Aye. I'll organise the watch turns right away", Éothain said, bowing his head.

"Prince Amrothos, may I ask you to see to Lady Lothíriel? I should speak with my captain", Éomer said then.

"Of course. I'll find a tent for her", Amrothos answered readily. He cast a look at Elric, "Would you like to help?"

The boy nodded quietly. He looked kind of concerned, but there was also something similar in his face that was to be seen on his father's. Both were people to do what needed to be done.

It was getting late when Amrothos and Elric had finally found an adequate tent for his sister; he sent the boy on his way to get some sleep as well. The prince himself would have liked some rest too, but first he wanted to speak with Lothíriel.

She already knew most of what had happened, and what remained was explaining Amrothos' return and her telling how she and Elric had been taken here. He listened to quietly, gritting his teeth in frustrated anger. Now it was clear as day: how he had been played too, and sent away so that he couldn't intervene with the plan to ensnare his sister and Elric.

"So it's all because of that Dreda", he declared when Lothíriel had finished her story.

"Her and Wormtongue", she said quietly and sighed. "The plan was probably his, but she helped to achieve it."

"Oh, I think I just might strangle her when we get back to Edoras, even if she's a woman! Have you already told your husband?" Amrothos asked.

"I have. He was... he took it rather heavily, though he had already suspected she played some greater part in this. She was his friend, after all", said his sister.

"Some friend she was!" muttered the prince. "To send you and Elric to such a danger... but worry not, sister. She'll have her punishment, one way or the other."

"Perhaps she will", said Lothíriel quietly. "But it will not bring back the baby."

"I'm sorry, Lothíriel", Amrothos said, his voice heavy with regret. He'd have liked to tell her something more, something to take away that sorrowing look in her eyes. But nothing seemed adequate: all words were hollow at the face of such a loss.

"I'm glad that you came, though", she said, sounding like she was trying to distract them both. "We probably owe our survival to you. Thank you, brother."

"Don't mention it. You're my sister, after all. And I have a feeling a lot of people would be very cross with me if I just happily rode away and let those scheming villains get your husband killed", he said, trying for a bit lighter tone.

"Yes", she said, feeling troubled still, "His life is all the more precious now..."

"You heard of Prince Théodred?" Amrothos asked, at which his sister nodded quietly. The frown on her face deepened and she gave him a pointed look.

"And you understand what it means, don't you?" she asked.

"Sweet Elbereth", he breathed. "It means your husband is the heir apparent. And you... that would make you a queen some point in future."

"So it would seem", she sighed. "But only if... if all turns out well when we return. I don't think Wormtongue will let Éomer take that position if he can somehow prevent it."

"Well, Éomer is the last living male of the House of Eorl, and Wormtongue is just an overly power-hungry adviser. Surely that has to count for something?" Amrothos tried.

"Let us hope you're right about that", Lothíriel said, not sounding too convinced.

Her brother decided this was a topic too heavy to be conversed now, especially since she looked like she could use rest. He patted her arm then, "Don't worry about it too much, sister. You should concentrate on getting better, and try to sleep. We have a long way ahead tomorrow."

"Of course", she said quietly.

"Don't worry, sister. I'll get someone to guard the tent. You'll be completely safe here", he promised her and she gave him a weak little smile. Amrothos kissed his sister's brow, touched her hand gently, and stood up. She closed her eyes and mumbled a soft "good night".

_Poor Lothíriel... _

* * *

The princess dozed off, but she woke up when her husband settled down beside her.

"Shh, _déor min. _It's just me", he said quietly when she opened her eyes and shifted anxiously.

She'd rather liked to curl against his side, but moving about seemed burdensome, and she was so warm under the cloak and the blankets. He shuffled closer and she placed her chin on his shoulder.

"I missed you", she mumbled softly.

"Likewise", he answered, turning so that he could kiss her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Just tired. Don't worry about me", she told him, though she knew he'd do so anyway.

"Hmm. We should rest. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a very long day", Éomer said quietly, letting out a sigh. He was probably thinking of what awaited them in Edoras, and she'd have asked what he thought would happen... but Lothíriel found she was too tired for a conversation like that. For the moment, she wanted to just be there next to him, relish his presence, and this feeling of being safe. Strange, how he could make her feel like that just by being there with her.

She thought about going back to sleep, but then decided that could wait for a little while more.

"You know that I'm sorry, don't you? I know I made an enormous mistake in trusting Dreda. I should have known she planned something like that. Silfbár and Wigmund and the baby are dead because of me", she said quietly, but he lifted her chin gently so that he could see her eyes.

"Lothíriel, I don't blame you for what happened and neither should you. Neither of us had any reason to believe that she would cheat you like that. And even if you had somehow known not to trust her, I do not believe Wormtongue would just have let you escape his trap. One way or other, he'd have made sure you and Elric ended up in his web. It was beyond your control", he told her firmly.

He kissed her forehead again then, and sighed. He continued, "But if you want to place fault on anyone, I should be counted guilty as well. I should have guarded and protected you better. Just... don't be too hard on yourself, my dear wife. This is a game you were not prepared for."

"I just wish I could have done something to prevent it", she said, worrying her lip.

"I know. I feel the same... but I promise Dreda won't come near you again. She'll be dealt with, sooner or later", he promised her; briefly, an angry note appeared in his voice. She trembled.

"We'll survive this, won't we? We'll be happy again", Lothíriel said quietly, closing her eyes.

"Aye. We will."

The exhaustion finally settled on her and she allowed it to take over. But then, just as she was on the brink of falling asleep, she heard him speak again: "Lothíriel, I..."

"Mm?" she mumbled sleepily.

"... never mind. It can wait", he said softly. "Sleep well, dear heart."

In the dark, his hand found hers.

* * *

On the morrow before first light, they started for Edoras. It felt good to leave behind this setting of the nightmare, though they could not keep up too speedy pace. After all, Lothíriel was not fit for riding and the stretcher carried between two horses demanded a steady gait. The horses were of Rohirric stock of course, and they knew to keep their walk stable as soon the company started for the road. It was surprisingly comfortable and the princess found herself dozing off more often than not. Though it was frustrating to make travel like this, she did know very well she had no strength now for much else than lying down.

"I'm going to be very angry with you if you strain yourself now", said her husband firmly and told her to rest.

Another reason for the slow pace was the Dunlendings. Éomer himself had said he'd let them go as there were few fighting men left, and the women in the camp were not a threat to anyone. But after the trouble they had caused Théoden King's judgement was needed. So they had taken what they could of their camp and followed the riders. There were some mules and even couple of horses – stolen from Rohirric herds it looked like – which helped with transportation.

The princess herself dozed off much of the journey. There was something consoling in the voices of men and horses, and also in the sound of Rohirric. Those were the sounds of home, and she was comforted. It felt like she and Elric had left Aldburg years ago, and she wondered how soon they'd be able to go there after arriving to Edoras. She thought of Elfhild as well and felt curious kind of ache; the need to see her child and hold her close was painful.

_Hrodgar promised to look after her... _

Oh, if only there had been some way to go back in time, so that she could prevent herself from ever leaving Aldburg!

She sighed to herself and closed her eyes again, hoping for a moment of release in dreams, for though she was eager to go home she also had a feeling it wouldn't be quite so easily done.

They made a stop at midday to give a moment of rest for those on foot, and the women lead by Birte quickly fixed food for all the company. Though they were technically prisoners, they appeared to not be above co-operating with the Riders. Amrothos came to sit by Lothíriel; his spirits returned, he sounded more like his usual self again.

"I must say", he said after a while, "I'm really impressed by the actions of young Elric. I don't know if many a boy of his age could stay so calm or single-minded through such an experience."

"He's an extraordinary boy", Lothíriel said softly. "I believe I owe my life to him, in more than just one way. I'm worried, though... he did kill a man, after all. Éomer said he'd talk with Elric about it, but still."

"I think he's going to be fine. He was fighting for a just cause", Amrothos mused. She let out a non-committal sound and fell silent for a while. Then she looked at him again.

"You don't seem too worried to me, brother", she noted.

"Why should I be? You're safe, and that's what this all was about", he said, shrugging.

"But you did disobey the King's order and punch Wormtongue. Aren't you concerned what will happen once we get to Edoras?" she asked.

"What can they do to me? Wormtongue may be a villain but he wouldn't harm Lord Denethor's kin", Amrothos said, sounding completely unaffected.

"Yes, he _is _a villain, and that's why you can't never trust what he will do. The Steward is my uncle too, but that certainly didn't prevent the snake from sending me and Elric to what could have been death", Lothíriel pointed out. However, her brother still seemed unconcerned.

"I'm sure it'll be all right. Don't worry so much, sister. And anyway you should be resting. I believe that husband of yours might just push me into a bog if he thinks I've exhausted you", he said lightly, patted her shoulder, and went off to get some more stew.

* * *

It was strange to be back in Edoras, but also very unpleasant. For one, there was the knowledge of just how much Wormtongue wanted them dead... and the atmosphere was more grim than ever. But that was no wonder. The death of Prince Théodred had been a severe blow, and perhaps the full consequences of his loss were not even realised yet.

Éowyn practically ran to meet them as soon as they reached the courtyard of Meduseld. There were tears in her eyes that she wouldn't let fall, and for a long time she hugged her brother and nephew. She looked like she'd have hugged Lothíriel as well, but apparently didn't quite dare. As soon as Hafoc and Wíglic had unfastened the stretcher from between the two horses, Éomer turned to look at them and was evidently about to give orders, but then Háma, the Doorward of Théoden King, came down the steps.

"Marshal Éomer. The King wants to see you right away", he said, and then glanced at Amrothos, "and you should come as well, Prince."

"Aye", said the Marshal. He looked at his sister, "You'll look after my wife?"

"Of course. Go ahead", said Éowyn gravely; her relief had faded away into some dark thought. As her brother and Amrothos started up the stairs, she looked at the two men holding up the stretcher. "Follow me."

They carried Lothíriel to her husband's chamber, and carefully lifted her to rest on the bed. Elric had followed and hovered at the door, looking like he was hoping he could help somehow. Éowyn noticed of course.

"Elric, would you go and call for Master Cyneric? I think he should take a look at the princess", she said. Readily the boy dashed away, and Éowyn sat on the edge of bed.

"You lost the baby", she observed quietly. "I am very sorry."

The princess did not really find it in herself to answer that, not in words at least. She merely nodded and looked away for a moment in an attempt to gather her calm again.

"But at least you have returned to us safely. I feared what would happen if you did not... for while you were gone, too evil things have happened in the realm", Éowyn said. She hesitated, like it was difficult for her to speak of this.

"Yes, I heard. Prince Théodred has... I'm very sorry", said the princess and sighed.

"I am too – especially now that Wormtongue is more powerful than ever before. It is an ill time for men such as him to fall..." said her sister-in-law heavily, "but he saw it coming. Ever since Ethelgifu gave you those words, Théodred was certain he'd die sooner or later. And what it means..."

"Your brother is the only one left", Lothíriel said. Her voice was weak and the weight of fate was heavy.

"Aye. He is now the only male of the House of Eorl save for our uncle. He will have to take Théodred's place", Éowyn answered. "But that is only if he can reach the King, and have our uncle listen."

_Éomer, the heir to the throne of the Mark... or the traitor. _

Somehow, both outcomes were just as scary. Lothíriel gripped Éowyn's hand tight and her sister-in-law seemed to understand. Same doubt and fear were reflected in her cool blue eyes.

Briefly Éowyn looked away, but as she was about to speak again, noises from outside distracted them and the angry notes of Rohirric filled the corridor...

"Wait a minute. I will go and see what this is about", she said and got up, hurrying to the door and exiting as quietly as if she were a ghost. Lothíriel held back her breath, wondering what was happening. She had no doubt it was something bad.

"_Don't you dare touch me! You may call me a traitor all you want but you're not going to prevent me from saying goodbye to my wife!" _

The door was thrown open.

He stood there at the doorway for a split second, and the look on Éomer's face was of great grief mixed with helpless anger. He flew to the side of his wife and she knew something was very, very wrong.

"What has happened?" she asked.

"I have been banished from the kingdom under the pain of death", he said, and his voice was that of a man trying to fight terrible despair.

"No!" she gasped, grasping his hand, as if he would disappear otherwise. "How could the King decide such thing? Why did he do that?"

"I don't think it was his decision, my dear wife", said the Marshal quietly, his eyes sorrowful, "but apparently it is because of my defiance of his orders to stay here, because I'm too hungry for power and war, and that I mean to usurp the throne... evidently Théodred's death and Ethelgifu's words prove this. And so I have been commanded to leave the realm."

"But where will you go?" Lothíriel asked, trying to fight back her tears. She should have known something like this would happen... that the troubles were quite not ended yet. But this? This was something she wouldn't have expected. Éomer, the most faithful of men, banished from Rohan!

"I don't know yet. Perhaps North, and try to figure out something..." he mumbled and cast down his eyes, and she understood he had hard time finding his resolve. She felt the same way: the possibility of being parted from him again terrified her more than she would ever have expected.

"Take us with you. Please, my dear, you can't leave us now", she begged in a moment of weakness. She couldn't see him gone, not after what had happened!

"You're in no condition for the kind of road I'll have to take, Lothíriel", he pointed out. "It will be dangerous, perhaps even more so than I can see now. And you have to stay and look after Elfhild – she'll need at least one of her parents. You need to stay and _heal." _

He was right. He had to go... go, and leave his family. And more importantly, _she _had to let _him _leave, and make sure he did so with as light heart as it was possible now. For how would he survive if the only thing he could do was to worry for his family?

"Aye", she said softly, though she knew it would be a hard thing, to do this without him...

But she had to be strong. She had to endure, for him and for Elfhild. As gently as she could she kissed the palm of his hand, taking these last moments before they would be parted again Valar knew for how long.

"It's all right, my dearest husband. We'll be fine. I'll get better and we'll... we'll survive, somehow. I'll take care of Elfhild and Elric. Éowyn will be here with us", she told him. But then he let out an unhappy moan, and leaned closer towards her.

"I can't leave you, Lothíriel. I can't just go when you're so ill, and..." he whispered in despair as he rested his forehead against hers. In Rohirric, he whispered, "I've only just found you and there is so much I..."

"You have to, Éomer. They'll kill you if you stay. You need to go now, and _survive. _So that you can return to us", she answered, resting a hand on his cheek until strength left her arm and it fell down on the mattress. A quiet sob that was laden with so much agony escaped his lips. He caught her hand and kissed her fingers.

"Just... don't give in. Don't die while I'm gone. I can't lose you too", he mumbled against the palm of her hand.

"I'll never stop fighting", she promised him, even managed a smile to encourage him. And she asked: "Kiss me hard before you go."

With his hands, he cradled her face and leant down to kiss her, and it was as she had hoped; all the need and despair and determination to fight was there, and it wasn't perhaps gentle but it was everything else. There was the urgency you could only share in the face of an unwilling parting, and she held tight on to him with what strength there was left in her... deep inside, she knew it could very well be the last time he'd ever kiss her – she needed to make it count.

And she needed to remember how it had felt like to kiss him, how he had tasted, how his beard scratched at her skin, and how he had made her feel so alive.

But even the most desperate kiss must end, and at last he pulled back. He took couple of long breaths and then looked at her again, more concentrated now.

"Once you can, travel to Dol Amroth. Take Elfhild with you when you go. Elric too, if you're able. Stay there and wait for me – your father will keep you all safe until the day comes I can take up that task myself", he told her quickly.

"Of course. I'm going to wait for you", she said, holding tight to his had.

"I will find you, my Lothíriel. I will come back", he said and kissed her, and while his lips were still inches from hers, he spoke: "I love you. _I love you."_

"I love you too, Éomer", she answered, tracing his cheek for one last time. "I will see you again."

But then there were men behind him and he was torn away from her, and he was pulled towards the door, but his eyes never left her. There was a promise in his eyes, fierce and desperate and true; somehow she was able to give him an encouraging smile. They shared one more look, but then he was gone, and his absence felt like night had fallen.

* * *

**A/N: **I know there wasn't supposed to be a new chapter this week but let's be honest - when have I ever showed any consistency in my updating pace? :D Well, this will likely mean the next chapter will have to wait for a bit, especially since I've got some problems in figuring out some things and how some matters should turn out. Anyway, even if I'm not writing I'll keep on thinking about the story and making notes. As usual, I'd like to know if you, my dear readers, have spotted any inconsistencies in the story!

So, we finally have a love confession. I know it's not something grand and great, but I thought this urgent and kind of minimalistic sort of thing was more realistic in the scene. First, when Éomer finds Lothíriel, it's that kind of situation you keep thinking of all the things you'll say, but when you actually get there you just can't utter a word. I believe he almost does tell her how he feels about her a bit later when he comes to rest beside her, but then changes his mind when he sees she's about to fall asleep. But in the end he does confess his love to her, because he simply can't leave without her knowing that he loves her.

Speaking of his departure, here I chose to go along the movie canon, like I hinted in some previous chapter's author's note. There's actually two reasons for this. First one is that in "Heart's Desire" I already wrote a version where Éomer is imprisoned (like happens in the book canon). So it would have felt a bit like writing the same scene all over again. The second reason is that his banishment seems - at least to me - more poignant in this situation than if he was imprisoned. It's a more painful and difficult situation for both him and Lothíriel.

In case you're wondering what has happened to Birte, Amrothos and Dreda, here's bit of a clarification. Birte is among the Dunlendings that were captured in the camp and they have been brought to Edoras. But what this situation will mean to Amrothos and Dreda is a question that will be answered in the next chapter.

A bit of history: the feud between the Rohirrim and Dunlendings does indeed stem from the ownership of the lands that, when the story takes place, make up Rohan. Like Elric says, Steward Cirion of Gondor gave this land to Eorl the Young and his people, who were then called Éothéod. This was in the year 2510 Third Age, after Eorl and his riders came to help Gondorian forces in the Battle of the Field of Celebrant. Eorl's cavalry effectively destroyed the enemy (a hostile Easterling clan), thus saving the Gondorian army. As thanks Steward Cirion gave them the lands of Calenardhon which were a part of Gondor. Eorl and his people settled there and renamed it Riddermark. But about ever since establishing the kingdom, the Rohirrim have had hostile relations with the Dunlendings who would too have liked to claim Calenardhon for their own.

As usual, thanks for your comments!

* * *

**1607hannah - **Thanks for your comments!

Amrothos certainly was in the right place in the right time! Here's not quite the love confession you might have hoped for, but at least truth is now in the open.

**Sandy-wmd - **Yes, that is (partly) the reasoning he was able to get to Éomer and his men in time.

**A Light in the Night - **I don't think his fear for Lothíriel and wish to protect one he considers a part of his family warrants calling him a dog. :S

**Borys68 - **Now that you've pointed it out, I do agree. It's not really the best wording.

You're right that the conversation was probably carried out in the language of Dunlendings. But I'd imagine his tone and look was unpleasant enough for Elric to understand he's not a nice fellow.

**Talia119 - **Thanks for all your comments! They're always very much appreciated.

You make good points about Birte and Dreda. I hadn't really thought of it from that angle but I definitely support that notion and wish I had thought of it before. As for what will happen to Birte, I suppose that will have to wait for now...

I hope that you're not too disappointed there was no scene of Amrothos telling Éomer what has happened to Théodred. I considered writing that at first, but then found I really couldn't. The way this chapter turned out was really the only one that made sense to me.

**lurkspur-ruby73 - **Thanks for the compliments! Really warms my heart to know you like this story. :) I actually make a lot of mistakes and then I just want to tear my hair off afterwards when I notice some stupid typo or grammar mistake. Anyway, I hope you like this update!


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

In stories, the good always found a way to win the evil. The good, brave prince would slay the dragon, the clever young princess would outsmart the malicious witch, and after a long dark winter Fréaláf Hildeson would ride from Dunharrow, and he would be victorious; Eorl's kin would again rule in the Golden Hall.

It didn't happen right away of course, and the good had to go through a trial of fire to put things right again. Still, in the end it was all worth it, and peace and prosperity would return to the land.

But what then, if the things did not go right after the trial of fire had ended? What if the prince returned home and found it burned to ground, his family slaughtered or scattered to the wind like birds, and evil had somehow endured to cast him down?

Well, Meduseld still stood, and the King and Éowyn were not dead, but it was all the same. For Elric's father was banished, Théodred was dead, he didn't know if the princess would ever get better, and everyone seemed to think the doom was nigh.

Before he went, Father briefly hugged Elric, and said: "You must be very brave now, Elric. Look after Lothíriel and your sister while I'm gone, will you?"

The boy had not trusted his voice so he had just nodded quietly, and then they had taken Father away. From the stone terrace Elric watched him taking his company – some men from Aldburg had come to Edoras for they had feared something had happened to the Marshal and now they had decided to follow him into exile – and then riding downhill... they turned towards north and Elric watched with an aching heart his father leave the realm.

And that wasn't even the full extent of Wormtongue's victory. Upon declaring the banishment of the Third Marshal he had also had Prince Amrothos imprisoned. His knights were sent back to Gondor and the prince himself had been taken into dungeons, kicking and shouting curses at his captors, with no knowledge of what would happen to him. When his knights had tried to demand he be freed and allowed to leave the kingdom in peace, a fight at the very door of Meduseld had almost broken out... and only the prince's own words had eventually convinced the Swan Knights that a wiser course of action would be to take a word of this to Lord Denethor and leave the matter to him. Amrothos wasn't even the only one imprisoned: the Dunlending women who had been brought to Edoras, and Birte among them, had been taken captive as well, and Elric wasn't even allowed to go and see the healer who had protected him and the princess during their captivity.

As if all this wasn't enough, a word had also come from Aldburg that two riders had assaulted Elfhild and tried to kill her, and now she had disappeared and no one seemed to know where she was – or if she was even alive still.

Watching the events unfold, Elric had felt fear... he had felt very small, and so weak. Father was gone, Lothíriel was sick, Elfhild could very well be dead, and the King fully under the spell of Gríma Wormtongue.

And so, as he came across Dreda on that fateful day on which Father was sent away and all seemed to be falling into ruin, he wanted to hurt her, and make her suffer just as much as all the others suffered.

"How could you do this? How could you?!" he screamed at the woman... but she stood silent and spoke no word.

But then Master Cyneric came and placed a hand on his shoulder, and the look on his face was not unkind.

"The Princess is asking for you, laddie", he said softly.

Father had asked him to look after her... and so Elric wiped away the tears from his eyes and thought of how he couldn't fail his sire now.

"Aye", he muttered and turned, and made way back inside.

And he never took note of the look of heartbreak on Dreda's face.

* * *

_What was it all for? _

That was the question Dreda found herself asking time and again, but she couldn't find an answer. All the bitterness she had felt, her hatred for the princess, and frustration and despair and the things she had done and would have done...

Truly, what point was there in any of it, when no matter what she did she couldn't change the Marshal's heart?

She had known for some time that Wormtongue considered her nothing but a pawn in his game. As a matter of fact, she was just as much used as the princess herself was; from that first moment he had murmured his twisted words into her ear and persuaded her to join him in his plan, he had been using her to his own ends.

And eventually she had realised it was a web she couldn't escape, and Gríma's intentions, though they had seemed like something she could use to her own ends, were not what she had thought them to be.

It had hit her when she had watched the princess and Elric ride away. She had thought of all the things Wormtongue had told her to say, and that they were to be caught on the plains, and the Marshal should be distracted by looking for them so that Gríma's plans could unfold without Éomer's intervention. So, when the princess and Elric were gone, Dreda at last understood the treachery she had committed, for Gríma's wish was not for Éomer to survive either. And she had made it so that this could very well take place.

_I did not want this to happen. _

Then, just like Gríma could have told her, Éomer came to Edoras in the search of his wife and son. He asked her all the questions she had expected him to ask, and she had not meant to tell him anything – she wouldn't send him to his death. Instead, she tried to make him stay and survive. But she had not foreseen one important thing. _He loved his Gondorian wife. _

He loved her, and would even defy death to find her... and at last Dreda understood she could not change his heart; what he had for his princess was something Dreda would never know. She had lost him, long ago already, and she had been fighting against the inevitable. The moment he had agreed to marry Princess Lothíriel, she had lost him and now he was far beyond retrieval.

_We're not the children we used to be anymore. _

And so, seeing his despair and distress and need to save his wife and son, Dreda had known he'd go no matter what, even if she did not help him. She told him what he needed to know, and hoped it would be enough to bring him home safely – even though she now understood what it would mean. He would find out what she had done and he would not forgive it.

But if he did not return... if he died, like Gríma had meant, she knew she could only blame herself for it. There was one thing Dreda did know: she'd rather have him hate her than let him die.

Those days before the Marshal returned with his wife and son were the darkest Edoras had yet seen: the Prince was gone and there was no word on the King's nephew either, and all the world appeared to be doomed for good. Yet on the fourth day after the princess and Elric had left Edoras a company was seen riding towards the King's capital, and Éomer did return along with his family and brother-in-law, and brought a word of a victory over the Dunlending forces. Oh, how she would have liked to dash towards him, embrace him tight and tell him how happy she was that he had returned safely! But the sight of him by his sick wife, and how tenderly he looked at the princess, made her understand her approaches would not be tolerated.

In fact, Dreda did not know if she could endure the flash of anger and hatred in those dark eyes that would surely appear should he see her.

So she fell away and tried to hold back the cold feeling in her breast... which only grew stronger when she heard the news of the day: though Lord Éomer had returned with his family, and his riders and the knights of Prince Amrothos had beaten a Dunlending war party, Théoden King had decided to banish him.

And the way he looked like, when Wormtongue's men escorted him out of Meduseld, and his face was dark and full of anger... it was then that he finally saw her, and in his eyes which had once been so friendly and warm there was just that hatred she had feared.

Éomer strode towards her so quickly that the men escorting him fell behind, and as he quickly approached her she even momentarily thought he might hurt her. He only stopped on the front of her and his anger seemed to make him grow even taller than he already was.

"You can consider yourself lucky that you are a woman, Dreda", he growled, "for it is the only reason I haven't already struck you down. The King may very well have commanded me into exile and forbidden my return under the pain of death, but I swear to you this, Dreda: if you harm my family again, or if you as much as go near them, I will return and I will find you. And there is no cave deep and dark enough on this Middle-earth that could hide you from me, and your sex or any lingering memory of our friendship will not halt my hand then."

Such burning anger was there in his voice that she flinched and nearly jumped back.

"Éomer, I-" she tried, but he would not listen. Rather, he turned and left her without a further word. He mounted his horse, as did the men who had chosen to share his banishment, and started downhill.

It was a long moment before Dreda could move again, but as soon as she was able to do that she hurried away. Tears burning her eyes, she ran, and she didn't stop until all strength left her and she fell down on the ground. The place she had escaped into was a quiet corner in the stables; all stablehands were outside doubtlessly gathered there to see the Marshal go.

The tears came at last. She gathered her knees against her chest and bowed her head, and quiet sobs would not stop wrenching her insides; each beat of her heart was an agony she could barely stand, and the despair...

_What was it all for? _

What had she made herself into in her mad attempt to force the Gondorian away? What had she become, just to see scorn in Éomer's eyes when he looked at her? Now he was riding towards a fate unknown, driven away from his home and called a traitor, and each league he left between Edoras and himself made the realm more vulnerable...

_I helped to do this. If the Mark falls, I will be one of those who made it possible. _

And she knew that was not a world she wanted to live in.

"Dreda? Is that you? What's wrong?" asked a friendly voice, and quickly she looked up. There, few foots away, stood Ohthere, who worked in the Royal Stables and had the honour of looking after the King's own steed Snowmane. He was about the same age as Théodred had been and a good friend of the late Prince's.

"I was just... I'm..." she mumbled, trying to wipe away the tears from her eyes.

"It's all right, Dreda. It's an ill thing that Lord Éomer is gone, but I'm sure the King will call him back sooner or later", he said gently, easily seeing to the core of her distress... well, at least to some of it.

"Aye. He's no traitor", she answered and looked away. _No, he's the only thing that is still true about me. _

"He's going to come back, somehow. He has never failed the Mark before, and I don't believe he will do so even now", Ohthere said, though she couldn't tell if he genuinely believed that or was trying to cheer her up. But she felt no words could now make any of it better.

He offered her his hand then, "Now, let me help you up. If you're upset, you shouldn't be crying here all by yourself."

She gave him a watery smile and allowed him to pull her back to her feet. Then, thanking him, she made her way outside.

_I cry alone because I have no one to share my pain with... _

But in the end, that was the lot of twisted people. And now she was one of them.

_I lost my soul, and what was it all for? _

* * *

The next day when Elric got back to Father's chamber where Lothíriel was now staying, he was stopped at the door by a scene that threatened once again his resolve to stay brave and faithful.

For the princess was quietly sobbing into Éowyn's shoulder as Aunt held her close and tried to mutter things that were probably meant to comfort her. Elric had a feeling he wasn't supposed to see this, and so he quietly retreated back to the corridor. Leaning against the wall, he worried his lip and wondered if his stepmother was becoming sick again. Well, more sick than she already was.

Elric thought of what Birte would have said; though she maintained she was not a great healer, he still thought her rather wise, and he was sure she'd have known how to comfort the princess. Why did it seem that all the people whom he loved were driven away or somehow beyond his help?

He stayed there until Aunt Éowyn came out. Her face was unsmiling, like it usually was these days. The sight of him seemed to soften her features a little.

"What is it, Elric?" she asked.

"I was just wondering what's wrong with Lady Lothíriel", he said quietly. "Why was she crying like that?"

"She is missing your father and Elfhild. Their absence is a difficult thing for her to bear now, with all the events of late, and the imprisonment of her brother... losing the baby has upset her very deeply", Éowyn answered, shaking her head and sighing.

"Can I do anything? Could I help her somehow?" Elric asked anxiously.

"You're a good boy, to want to help her so much. But I fear there is not much we can do for her. Just be a good lad, Elric. If she needs something, I'm sure she'll ask for it", said his aunt gently. Her answer did little to console him, but he knew he had to be brave, and so he just nodded silently.

Oh, if only Father had been here! Elric too missed him and wondered when he would be able to come home... but he had already guessed it might not be any time soon. The adults said one thing of course, thinking he'd get scared if they told him how it really was, but he could very well see the looks on their faces and knew what they meant.

"Do you think they might let Prince Amrothos go some time soon?" he asked then. But Aunt's face remained doubtful.

"I don't know. He did assault the King's adviser, and Wormtongue isn't likely to forget it quickly", she answered.

That troubled Elric just as well. He had tried to go and see the Prince, but he hadn't been allowed past the door of the dungeons. Somewhere in that dim gloom, he had thought he had heard Prince Amrothos cursing and shouting insults; he hadn't heard half of the words he had used before. Who knew princes could have such foul mouths?

"Don't worry about him, Elric. No matter what he did he's still a member of a high Gondorian House, and kin to Lord Denethor himself. Gríma will not dare to harm him", said Éowyn, apparently trying to comfort him.

He nodded quietly, and then Aunt had to go along; the King had requested her presence. The boy himself made his way to Father's chamber. The princess was fast asleep now, though even sleep had not been able to smooth away the troubled look on her face. The setting reminded Elric disturbingly of their captivity in the Dunlending camp and he didn't like it.

Master Cyneric had seen to Lothíriel already, and judged that Birte's efforts had saved her life. But even then, she wasn't getting better. Though she wasn't suffering from fever anymore, she was still weak and unhealthy, and her pallor remained sickly. Elric knew he wasn't supposed to eavesdrop but as no one was telling him anything, he had listened behind the door when Master Cyneric had spoken with Éowyn.

"There does not seem to be any immediate threat of death, though I have no doubt that even a small cold might prove fatal now. Sadly, I do not have any way of helping her now. I can't cure this condition", he had said and Elric had felt the freezing grip of fear close about his heart. Surely the princess could not die after they had survived their captivity?

"What do you propose then, Master?" Éowyn had asked.

"Only thing I can suggest now is that she rests and eats properly. Perhaps her strength will eventually return then", Cyneric had answered. Elric had felt even more troubled than before, but he did his best to cheer up Lothíriel; but though he went to pick flowers for her and brought her tea and told her stories he had heard from Grandmother Eadmod, he did understand nothing he could do would heal her.

He was in the middle of these musings when he heard her moan. He looked up and saw she had woken up. Elric hurriedly went to her side.

"Is everything fine? Do you need anything?" he asked. Lothíriel gave him a tired little smile.

"It's all right. I just had some unpleasant dreams", she answered softly.

Elric sat down beside her and picked up her hand. Gently, her fingers curled about his own.

"I miss Father too. And Elfhild. But I'm sure we'll see them again soon", he said, trying for a comforting tone. But it didn't really seem like it helped her, really.

"Yes", she said softly; she looked away then and he guessed she was thinking of something painful.

"I wish I could help you somehow", he mumbled, feeling so weak and useless. Why couldn't he be more like Father? His sire always seemed to know what to do, and what to say. And if he had been strong and fearless like father, he could have fixed all of this somehow... drive away the snake that had brought about this misery.

However, Lothíriel smiled and held his hand tightly.

"You do help me, Elric. More than you know. I wouldn't be here now if not for you", she told him.

"But I should like to do some more. I'd like to see you healed", said the Marshal's son, his voice weaker than he had meant it to be.

"I would like that too. I should be strong like you are. This is no time to be ill like this", she sighed. "Elfhild needs me, but here I am, barely able to look even after myself..."

Elric thought of his little half-sister and where she might be now. They said Father had instructed his men in Aldburg to hide her, and perhaps she was as well as she could be... Hrodgar had been left with her, and though he was a cripple and not a warrior at all, somehow Elric had felt from the beginning that the strange man was more than capable of looking after Elfhild.

Hrodgar...

He knew there were people in Aldburg who thought him a witch, though he had never seen the man do anything that could warrant such a name. Nevertheless it was agreed that Hrodgar had some extraordinary abilities, even if no one seemed to know just what they were. Elric didn't know if any of that was true or if Hrodgar had malicious skills... but if he had, surely he had to know how to do good things too? At least he had helped Elfhild when she had been ill, and Elric remembered how very relieved the princess had been then.

Perhaps he could help Lothíriel too?

"Is all well, Elric?" she asked then, evidently having noticed that there was something on his mind.

"Do you think Hrodgar could help you?" he asked quickly as a wild hope flourished in his heart. She thought about it for a moment, and then smiled.

"I think he could", she said softly. "It is worth a try, at least."

"He's in Aldburg, though. How can we get him here?" Elric said then and frowned. He thought of Gríma Wormtongue, who doubtlessly was currently very happy about the poor health of the Marshal's wife. If that twisted man learned there might be a way to bring back her health, he'd surely try and prevent it.

"Éowyn could send a word for him. She knows who can be trusted, and I'm sure she'd want to help", Lothíriel answered. Elric smiled at that; Aunt would do her utmost to help her brother's family.

"Yes! She'll know how to reach him", he said, feeling a bit lighter now than before. Of course it wouldn't solve the large matters, like Father's banishment, but at least Lothíriel would fare better... perhaps they could even go home, away from Edoras.

And so, on that evening which was the day after Father had left Edoras, Elric stood on the stone terrace, side by side with his aunt... their hope was small, and riding with a young rider who according to Éowyn could be trusted.

He looked up at the face of his aunt, and she gave him a small smile... but behind it, he could see the disquietude that never really left the faces of adults these days. For a moment, Elric hoped he would have missed it, that he could be a child again, and trust in the strength of his father, the Prince, and the King. But those days were past. Father had left the realm, Théodred was dead, and Théoden King had no care for his kin now.

The boy hugged his aunt then and closed his eyes; for one small moment he let himself be weak and scared and small. Aunt seemed to know somehow and she held him tight. He sighed and thought of his father, who was Béma knew where now, and there was no telling when and if he would ever return.

_You must be very brave now, Elric. _

* * *

In the end, Dreda found her resolve again, and decided what she had to do.

When she made her way up and towards Meduseld, she felt curiously detached, and only partly in control of herself. There was none of that anger and hatred she had felt on those times before when she had intended to take a life. No, this was just cold and emotionless, and perhaps in some other situation it would even have scared her.

But Dreda had decided she was beyond caring. For she felt now she could see where the things would go from here, and no matter what happened there was no happy ending waiting for her.

One possibility was that Wormtongue got what he wanted and the Mark as she knew it would cease to exist. That much was clear now. The other was that somehow Éomer would return and the things would be put right, and _she _would be one of those things. Either way, she'd suffer.

Either way, Riddermark was the only thing left she still had hope for.

Master Cyneric always kept good care of his tools. She ought to know, having cared for them so many times. As such, his knives were sharp and without a speckle of dirt. So sharp they were actually that, she hoped, they would cut through robes and flesh and sinews. There was something comforting about the feel of the handle as she ran her fingers over it inside her sleeve, from where she could quickly pull it out.

As she climbed up those stairs towards the doors of the Golden Hall, a small voice seemed to whisper: _you can still turn and run. _

But where should she run, then? She had no skills for survival on the plains. She knew not how to wield a sword, after all... and with the kingdom in peril and the orcs roaming free, Dreda had no illusions as to how it would turn out if she tried to ride any road by herself.

Rather than get herself killed by orcs or waiting for some unclear doom in the future, Dreda had decided to go down with a bang.

Gríma Wormtongue stood by the hearth that ruled the centre of the Hall, warming his hands above the embers. The sight of his pale face finally brought a wave of hatred, and to herself Dreda wondered how she could have ever thought she could outsmart such a snake. She had underestimated him in every way... and now those she had trusted to fight him were gone.

Dreda grit her teeth and her fingers curled tightly about the hilt of her knife. Suddenly, a violent wish to hurt and injure him as badly as she could came to her. She wanted to see him suffering as she had suffered, hear his screams, and see the light die in his eyes... she wanted him to know it was _her _who had killed him. Dreda did not even care what would happen afterwards: she'd be content with the knowledge that she had taken the life of Gríma son of Gálmód.

And she approached him and a cold fury rose inside her, a wish so murderous yet so void of anything that resembled remorse... how horrified a younger version of herself would have been to see what she had become! But she had lost her soul, and there was no going back – there was no regaining innocence.

Gríma lifted his eyes and saw her coming and for one moment she thought she'd make it – for one blissful instance it seemed to her that he wouldn't sense the danger before it was too late.

But once again she had underestimated this snake. Whether it was because he could somehow see the evil intentions in others or because he always remained alert and waiting an assault like this, Dreda didn't know; but his hand shot up that very same moment when she lifted the knife and meant to strike. He grabbed her by wrist, thus preventing her from burying that blade into his flesh, and cried: "Guards!"

One more desperate time she tried, focusing all her strength and anger and desperation in this one single act, and the knife's blade went as far as gashing Gríma's cheek... but that was the extent of the damage she was able to do, for powerful hands grabbed her from behind, and she was pulled back. Dreda let out a cry of frustration and hopeless fury. She had lost her chance... and most likely her life as well. With her resolution, her strength also left, and the knife dropped from Dreda's hand.

She might have imagined it, but to her it seemed that a smile just very briefly appeared on Wormtongue's face.

"Trying to murder the King's adviser in broad daylight, in the very Golden Hall of Edoras! My my. I do hope you understand the graveness of what you have just done, Dreda daughter of Deorwine. Or, if you don't quite understand it yet... you will, very soon", he said, all the while keeping his voice soft and pleasant as if he was talking of something completely different than an attempt on his life. Indeed, there was no hint of shock on his face at all.

Dreda growled at the hateful man and spat at him.

"Your days are numbered, Worm! If I can't end you, then someone else will!" she snarled at Gríma, but her words had no effect whatsoever. He merely wiped away the spit on his face.

"Take this villain away. Put her behind bars. The King will deal with her later", he commanded, and rough-handedly the guards began to drag her away.

Dreda bowed her head and bit back her tears of frustration and hopelessness.

_Perhaps I should just have run... _

* * *

Observing Hygelac and his little family confirmed Freawaru of what she had thought upon meeting the three for the first time. They were untroublesome, quiet people who kept mostly to themselves but readily contributed to the daily work at the farm, and gladly shared what they had. Their unwillingness to speak of events that had lead them to leave their home was probably because of the great unhappiness of it all, and Freawaru and her husband quickly decided it wouldn't do to be curious about something their guests obviously didn't want to talk about. Perhaps they would open up in time, after the wounds had started to heal.

Like they had promised, they helped around the farm – even Hygelac did despite his limp. There were times Freawaru could tell the crippled man was on the edge of his strength and it was apparent it wasn't completely painless, but the man never complained and did what he could. However, he was a very good weaver, even better than Freawaru herself it seemed. So after negotiating with Cenric they decided to leave all work with weaving to their guest.

The only thing Freawaru did worry about was the little girl. Though Elan was generally a sweet child, she also appeared to gravely miss her parents. So she kept asking when "Nana" and "Father" would come back, and on the first night Hygelac's family spent in Freawaru and Cenric's house, the girl sobbed through half of it despite her aunt's attempts to comfort her. Obviously Elan's parents had died only very recently and she was still too young to understand what it meant, and Freawaru pitied the little thing; no child should bear such a loss.

But sometimes Freawaru looked at the little girl and she couldn't help but wonder... for in the face of the child, there was something familiar, like she had seen this little orphan before. Yet no matter how much she thought of it, she couldn't place that face. Nor could Cenric, though he didn't think she was familiar at all.

Nevertheless it was not too bad to have some company on the farm, even if it was not too far from Aldburg, and the first evening after Hygelac had arrived with his family was much spent in exchanging news. Mostly they consisted of the events of late, and Cenric never asked about what misfortunes had come to the old crippled man and his kin.

"But truly when one looks about these days", noted Cenric then after a conversation about all the ill things that had befallen in the realm lately, "one must wonder how all this will turn out. With the Prince's death and all these news of war... I fear for all our sakes."

He cast a look at his own son, who was nestled against the side of Freawaru, and his head was drooping sleepily. The Rohir woman glanced at Hygelac and expected him to concur. However, it seemed to her that a smile touched that gruff face.

"If I should say", murmured the old man at last, and in the depths of his black eyes a strange light glittered, "I would believe that these times that we live are merely death pains of an old age... and a birth struggle of a new one. Much that was good and fair will die, aye, and be forever lost."

His words made Freawaru feel curiously sad, and she pulled her son closer to herself. But then the old man looked down on the face of his granddaughter, who was already fast asleep.

"But new things will come into the world, and though they are not the same as what used to be, they can be just as fair and wonderful. Little Elan here will see a world I can't imagine", he muttered softly.

"That is very hopeful", said Freawaru softly, "and I wish you have the right of it."

"Time will show", said Hygelac. Eadgyd lifted up Elan then and took the girl into bed, but soon after the little one woke up and started asking for her mother. _Poor little thing. _

But then on the third day after the guests had come to stay at the farm, two riders came from Aldburg. Freawaru happened to be outside then feeding the chicken when the men arrived, speeding from west. They looked like any men of the Mark, and she assumed they were Lord Éomer's men. As it was not such a long way to Aldburg, the Marshal's riders came this way every now and then; Cenric and Freawaru would offer food and care for horses, and the riders would sometimes pay in coin and bring tidings from the town.

"Good day", she called as she straightened up to regard the riders, "what news from Aldburg?"

As soon as those words were out, Freawaru spotted Hygelac from the corner of her eye. He had come outside and stood at the door. Oddly enough, he looked tense and very alert.

"Aye", said one of the two riders, "we do have tidings. The word has come that Princess Lothíriel and the Marshal's bastard son have safely returned to Edoras. However, the Third Marshal himself has been banished from the kingdom."

"Banished? For what crime?" Freawaru nearly exclaimed. Not that she knew the man personally, but she had seen him several times, and it was commonly agreed that Marshal Éomer was one of the few good men in the realm – dutiful, honourable and valiant. How could Théoden King possibly banish such a man, especially considering the Marshal was his own nephew and last of the House of Eorl?

"For disobeying the King, harbouring traitorous intents and warmongering", said the other man. He didn't seem too affected by this, which confused Freawaru. Surely Lord Éomer's own men would be upset that their commander had been banished?

"And what of the Marshal's family?" asked Hygelac. His voice was hard but colourless and he stared at the two riders like he hoped to read their minds.

"His wife and son are in Edoras for the moment, but there has been some talk of sending the Princess away if she can't be dealt with otherwise. She is, after all, a wife to a traitor and a foreigner – she could very well be the one behind her husband's treachery. Who knows what poisonous words she has murmured into the Marshal's ear?" said the taller of the two riders.

To her surprise, Freawaru heard Hygelac let out a low snarl. She quickly looked at him and wondered: why would he be upset for a woman he had probably never even seen?

But whether he meant to say something then, he never got the chance; for Eadgyd came from the house with Elan and Ceadda and the two riders' eyes immediately fixed on the little girl clumsily waddling before her aunt.

"Yes, that is her. That is the handmaiden of the princess", said the younger-looking rider, "but the girl is supposed to be fair-haired."

"Eadgyd", Hygelac called then, and his voice was cold and strong, "take Elan and go back inside."

"No", said the taller rider. "I want to have a look on that girl."

"You have no business taking any looks on my granddaughter", snapped the crippled man.

Suddenly, the younger rider's eyes widened just a little bit. He turned at his companion, and said: "That's him! That's the man they call a witch! I've seen him with the Princess! Aye, he's a witch, and he must have done something to dye the girl's hair!"

Freawaru looked quickly from the two riders to Hygelac and then to little Elan. The girl was in Eadgyd's arms now and was following the scene with wide eyes. Grey eyes... grey, like the eyes of Prince Théodred and Morwen Steelsheen and the descendants of Westernesse of old.

And she remembered the dark-haired woman, dressed in blue and silver uncommon in the Mark, and riding into the town of Aldburg for the first time. But more importantly, she remembered her face as she had passed by Freawaru and looked ahead.

That face of a princess was why Elan seemed so familiar.

"Well met, Master Hrodgar", said the older rider. "We have been sent here to find the Marshal's daughter. The King commands she be brought to Edoras, so that she can be reunited with that foreign mother of hers... and the Lord of the Mark can decide how to deal with the traitor's family."

"What are you talking about? These people are from Eastemnet! They're poor homeless wanderers who have no business with any false or true traitor!" Freawaru tried. Oh, how she wished Cenric could have been here and deal with these men, but her husband was away in the fields and could not help them now.

"Silence, woman. We have no quarrel with you, so you'd better not start one", snapped the rider who had last spoken.

Freawaru's quickly looked at Hygelac, expecting him to say something to prove they were not the people these men were looking for... even if Elan's face and eyes were those of a princess. But the old man stood silent and looked like he was fighting some great internal battle. Then suddenly his shoulders fell and he sighed.

"We will come", he said quietly, defeated and grim.

"But Hygelac-" Freawaru argued, yet he wouldn't let her finish. He lifted up a hand and a sad little smile touched his face.

"It is all right, Mistress Freawaru. I do not wish to bring misfortune over your family for our sakes after you have shown such kindness to us", he said with uncommon gentleness, "I am very sorry we had to lie to you. Believe me, it was just to keep safe an innocent life."

He looked at the two riders then and once again his face and eyes became hard.

"One thing before we start for the road. How did you find us?" he asked.

The two riders exchanged a glance and seemed to agree they could afford this much. After all, it wasn't like a crippled man and a woman trying to care for a small child could escape them.

"You were sold out by the gatekeeper who let you out when you left Aldburg. It seems Lord Éomer's banishment did not have such a great impact on the loyalty of some..." said the younger man, smiling indulgently.

At that, the old man let out an unimpressed snort.

"The loyalty of the Mark for the true Sons of Eorl might yet surprise you, rider", Hygelac said coldly, "and a day will come when the real traitors will have their just judgement."

* * *

**A/N: **And at last I return with an update! I know it took a while, but I've been really busy lately, and for some reason I had trouble writing this chapter. For one I had difficulty in deciding at some points how things should turn out. As a result I'm not too happy with this chapter, but hopefully you'll like it.

Amrothos is indeed imprisoned for the moment. Let's just say that he was a bit too hopeful in the last chapter and Gríma has gotten so bold that he doesn't hesitate taking a noble prince as a captive. Like with Hrodgar and Elfhild, you'll still have to wait for a bit to see what will happen to him next!

I also had a bit of difficulty with Dreda's storyline, but **Talia119 **helped me to work this out, and I now see where Dreda is going from here. I don't know if this turn of events is what you guys expected but to me at least it makes sense. True, she has done (and tried to do) some very nasty things and perhaps she's not completely redeemable at this point, but like I've tried to demonstrate she does now understand her attempts have been in vain, and even if she did succeed Éomer would never love her. I think that's an important revelation to her and has a great impact on what she does in this chapter. Anyway, thanks to Talia for help!

In case you're wondering where we are timeline-wise, we're in the end of February now (canonically), though with a touch of the movie canon timeline.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**A Light in the Night - **Yes, the reunion will have to wait for a bit now. Thanks for the compliment!

**Borys68 - **For the moment the Dunlendings remain captive. Most of them are women anyway, and I'd think even Gríma would hesitate to kill them just like that, because I don't think the Rohirrim would take slaughter of defenceless women too lightly. So you could say he's trying to figure out how to deal with the captives, since he never expected this to happen at all.

**SymphonicPoem - **Then I've done my job well. :)

**Sandy-wmd - **That is nice to hear! I'm glad to be able to keep up the suspense.

**Kiiimberly - **Thanks for pointing that out! I've edited it away.

**Talia119 - **I'm very glad to hear that! I was a bit insecure in fact whether I had been able to give my readers a scene of confession of love they had hoped for. Anyway, I hope this chapter answers at least partly some of your questions.

Thanks for pointing out that awkward bit. She wasn't in the room but you're right it was not too clearly written. I've edited the chapter so it shouldn't be so unclear now.

**shana1 - **Wait and see! :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"_My lover's on the dark blue sea,  
He's gone far o'er the main,  
And many a weary day will pass,  
Ere he'll come back again._

_Then blow gentle winds o'er the dark blue sea,  
Bid the storm-king stay his hand,  
And bring my lover back to me,  
To his own dear native land.  
My lover's on the dark blue sea..."_

Long ago, Lothíriel's mother had sung the song about the sailor's wife to her. There was something enchanting about the tune and the sound of Sindarin, and though the song wasn't exactly what you'd call light and joyful, she found there was strange kind of comfort in singing to herself those yearning words.

But the song did not say if the sailor ever returned from the sea, or if his wife was left to live her days in doubt and sorrow. So, when she had been young, she had come up with an ending to the story. In it, the sailor's ship had wrecked, but a white swan had picked him up from the sea and brought him back to his wife.

There was, however, no swan to bring Éomer home.

As the night fell on the day of his departure, Lothíriel lay awake for a long time; the shadows in the room had grown taller, and paying attention to Éowyn and Elric had taken some effort – something to make her feel bad, as she knew they were just trying to help. But try as she may, she could not stop thinking of the last words her husband had spoken to her before they had taken him away.

"_I love you. I love you." _

And she loved him back. Sweet Elbereth, did she love him! How and why and when that had happened she did not know... but there it was, the truth at last.

She loved the man she had despised before even meeting and feared as a stranger and then married out of duty, had grown to look forward to seeing his face and accustomed to having him close. _She loved him. _And now there was a very good chance she would never see him again. That was more likely than not anyway, considering all that had befallen in the kingdom as of late... and it would have been some cruel irony for their ways to be parted for ever just after the truth had been uttered out loud.

Now she lay awake, waiting for... she didn't even know what. Tomorrow? Deliverance? Death?

And the silence in the Golden Hall was so thick, so long, and each passing moment turned the stone on her heart heavier.

_My lover's on the dark blue sea... _

Finally, the tears came.

* * *

And there stood Aldburg at last. Hrodgar had insisted on a slow pace, saying it was because he had to mind Elfhild while he rode, but in truth it had been to give him time to think of what to do.

He might have some extraordinary abilities – or just knowledge, that was – but Hrodgar knew also when and how to pick his fights. And he certainly didn't have a chance against two riding men who were expecting him to come up with some mischief and resistance. Moreover, he had a life of a little but important girl on his responsibility; while these men might not kill her, it was unlikely they would have such restraints against him if they considered him a hindrance. Hrodgar needed to stay alive in order to look after Elfhild... and choose some more convenient moment to fight back.

_There's a snake in the far lands of the south, the kind that pretends it is dead until the very last moment... but then it strikes, and its venom is lethal. _

Besides, the chances were in Aldburg there would be others just as willing to guard Elfhild from harm.

He had originally expected they'd ride straight to Edoras, but it turned out there were few more men looking for the Marshal's daughter, and it had been agreed they'd reassemble in Aldburg once the child was found. This much Hrodgar had been able to find out from the talks of two riders when he had pretended to be busy with the child. They had let him ride with the child, evidently thinking he could not get away... which was true, really. As a rider, Hrodgar knew he was no match for these men, and he had not enough strength in crippled body to come up with some ruse to hand the child off to Ceola... and perhaps Ceola's life was just as cheap to these men as Hrodgar's. Trying to escape would just have been playing with fire.

The snake did not move before the time was right, after all.

Looking around as they rode towards the Marshal's Hall, Hrodgar could tell the happenings of late had not impacted the general mood too well. The banishment of the Third Marshal had certainly not been received too lightly and no wonder it was so. Hrodgar frowned to himself, for in the situation like this it was not too easy to keep believing those words he had said to Freawaru and Cenric of a lighter morrow.

At last they came to the Hall's courtyard. It was rather odd not to see the Princess there to receive them, and briefly he wondered how she might be faring. He had yet to hear the details of what had happened precisely after she had left, but Hrodgar was certain it would not be anything too nice. At least she was still alive, and life always had possibilities death did not possess.

Scýne was there nevertheless, and she dashed to the side of Hrodgar's horse. He carefully lowered Elfhild into the woman's arms. The child even smiled at the sight of a familiar face, and asked: "Nana?"

"Nana is not home yet", Scýne told her gently.

"I do not think I gave you the permission to hand her off", said one of the two riders who had come to seek for the girl.

"She's just a child. She must rest before you continue", argued Éothain's wife and held Elfhild a bit tighter.

"No. The orders were to continue as soon as we had the child", the rider answered sharply; it appeared that of his companions two others had already returned.

Not paying any heed to the words, Hrodgar dismounted too. _This was as good moment as any. _He extended arms towards Elfhild, and Scýne gently offered him the child. As he received Elfhild, he idly thought of how much the girl looked like her mother.

"Witch, you better get back into saddle immediately!" said the younger rider. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. The scene was starting to gather audience now, but all remained silent and grave.

"She will not leave Aldburg", Hrodgar announced in strong, clear voice and hoped this was not a miscalculated move. Surely in the Marshal's own house there were people willing to defend his family?

He continued: "We all know who gave the orders to bring her to Edoras. They came from the same place that would have had her killed, though she is but a child. And I have nothing but contempt for such empty commands. Elfhild Éomer's daughter will not leave Aldburg until Lord of the Mark is again free of ill advisers."

"Fool!" growled the taller of the two and dismounted. "You need not come along, witch. We have no use for you. But the girl will come, whether you will it or not. Hand her!"

And like Hrodgar had hoped, this was not a fight he had to endure alone.

"Over my dead body", came a new voice from the door of the Hall.

Master Oferlof stood there, surrounded by dozen men who were left of Marshal's éored. He glared at the riders from Edoras, who now for the first time showed any doubt. The one who appeared to be their leader glared at Oferlof.

"So you defy the King's command just to protect a traitor's brat?" he asked, but Oferlof shook his head.

"Lord Éomer is no traitor, and his child that you call a brat has far greater lineage than yourself", he said calmly. "And like Master Hrodgar here said, your orders hardly came from the King. Our Marshal had the right of it: we are done obeying the whims of a snake!"

He had barely finished his sentence when a young rider in training, Brego his name was Hrodgar remembered, stepped to stand on the front of him and Elfhild. In his hands he carried a hay-fork from the stables.

"What Master Oferlof said! If you want Elric's little sister, you'll have to walk past me!" announced the boy heatedly. He looked like he firmly believed he could hold back the four men single-handedly.

"And me", said Scýne as she stepped beside Brego, and the youth's words and the woman's actions had an instant effect. The two words, _and me, _echoed in the courtyard as more and more people of the Marshal's household came to stand between Elfhild and the riders. Few of them had other weapons than tools of the house, but none wore faces of fear as they stepped forward to defend their lord's daughter.

As he watched this unfold, Hrodgar felt strange kind of pride... and for the first time since he had been a boy he felt like one of these people.

_Aye. The Mark still knows the Sons of Eorl, and will stand for them. _

* * *

On the morrow of third day after Éomer had left Edoras, a summon was brought to Lothíriel. She had been telling Elric and Éowyn of Dol Amroth when one of the guards entered without bothering to knock. The three immediately looked at the man and Lothíriel noticed Elric tensing as if the boy expected a fight.

"Théoden King demands the presence of Princess Lothíriel", announced the guard, wasting no time to courtesies. At his words Éowyn stood up, glaring coldly at the man.

"Surely the King is aware of the Lady's weak health? She can receive no summons now", Éowyn said. Her voice was hard and without warmth, as were her eyes.

"My lady, unless the princess is dying she has no business defying the command of the King", the man answered, his face and voice colourless as he spoke. Éowyn looked like she would have argued, but the guard did not stay to hear any complaints. Instead he turned around and strode out.

Éomer's sister glared after the man, her mouth a thin line and eyes blazing in anger.

"What insolence! Does that man have no shame at all?" she growled, half to herself.

"It's all right. I'll be fine", Lothíriel reassured and slowly moved her legs over the edge of bed. She frowned, "Though I fear I must ask you to help me dress."

Her sister-in-law sighed and rubbed her temple, yet she somehow still managed a small smile.

"Of course", Éowyn said, and cast a look at Elric, "You should perhaps go and wait outside while the Princess gets ready."

The boy nodded, but though he said nothing his uneasy look was not lost to Lothíriel.

It took a while to get her presentable, and the princess felt sort of embarrassed for having to be helped like that, but Éowyn's face never betrayed any emotion that could have made it even more awkward. As the summon had been urgent they did not waste time on matters like her hair, and as soon as the younger woman was dressed appropriately enough, her sister-in-law gave her a pensive look.

"Do you really think you can do this? Can you even stand up?" she asked.

"There's only going to be more trouble if I don't", said Lothíriel and pushed herself up on feet. Her knees felt wobbly and weak and for a moment she feared she might fall down, but her legs carried her and she let out a sigh.

"I'll be there, if you need support. Elric will come too", Éowyn said softly, though she couldn't hide her slightly doubtful look.

"It's going to be all right", Lothíriel reassured her. But the older woman did not answer; she placed an arm under the princess' shoulders, and they began to make way for the Great Hall. Elric joined them as well and remained at Lothíriel's side, evidently ready to catch her if she showed any sign of losing her strength.

The King was seated on his throne, as usual. And there at his side on a wooden chair sat Gríma Wormtongue; Lothíriel had once heard that since time immemorial, this was a place of highest honour in all the land and only men of extraordinary deeds and favours to the throne were allowed to have it. Suddenly she felt doubt for where this was going.

When they at last reached the dais, she lowered herself into a clumsy curtsy. In the middle of it she felt her knees nearly giving in, but Éowyn helped her to stand upright again.

"My King", said the princess, "you wished to see me."

"The King surely wanted that", Gríma Wormtongue answered. His pale eyes were fixed on her and the look in them was not pleasant. "And one must wonder why you kept him waiting. That is no proper conduct when the Lord of the Mark calls."

"I apologise for making my lord wait. I am not quite healthy at the moment", Lothíriel said; she kept her eyes on the face of the King. Oh, how she hoped she might have reached the man who surely still had to exist behind that weariness! But then, if his own kin could not move him, why should she have succeeded?

Théoden leaned towards Gríma and murmured something quietly, and the pale-eyed man shot a stark searching look at the princess. His white face betrayed no emotion.

"Princess Lothíriel, the King would like to hear what part did you play in the treachery of your husband", said Wormtongue. She had to grit her teeth in order not to spit out anything inappropriate.

"My lord, I had no part in any treachery. In fact, all my time here in Rohan I've never seen my lord and husband Éomer commit any acts of betrayal or even speak of such things. He has only ever loved and respected his uncle. Lord, I assure you he is your most loyal subject, and I would beg of you to call him back home", she answered, trying not to sound too desperate.

"That traitor's name is not to be spoken in this Hall, Princess", Gríma snapped. "And how do you propose to prove your innocence, lady?"

"Lord, I was under the impression it is not the way of Eorlingas to demand people to give proof of their innocence when even their misdeeds are but an ill-intentioned murmur", Lothíriel answered. "I have only ever tried to do my duty and live to the honour of House of Eorl, nothing more."

Wormtongue's eyes narrowed slightly, but he turned towards the King then to exchange some quiet words. Then he turned to look at her again and she did not miss the look of hatred in his eyes.

"Princess Lothíriel, the King has decided that as a wife to a traitor and a foreigner you are unreliable element in this great and ancient house. In these troubled times we can't have such untrustworthy people near the very royal family. Théoden King commands you to leave the realm as soon as possible, and remain henceforth in your own southern kingdom with the kin of your father", Gríma announced, and as his cold words echoed in the Hall a sinking feeling came to Lothíriel. Though Éomer had advised her to leave the realm, this was not the way she wanted to do it, like a villain driven out of house.

The Mark was, after all, her home now... and should she leave this land, the distance between herself and Éomer would be all the more endless.

But as much as it brought her despair, she knew she could not defy this command. For one, she feared Amrothos would be the one to pay if she disobeyed.

"May I at least see my brother before I go, my lord?" she asked and she couldn't hide defeat from her voice, no mater how much she hated to reveal it.

"You may briefly tell him goodbye tomorrow before your departure", said Gríma. Now just a faintest smile touched his face, and Lothíriel could feel Éowyn's tension beside herself. Her sister-in-law was staring at the pale-eyed man with cold, hard eyes; her anger was so thinly veiled the princess almost expected her to leap at this snake of a man and throttle him right there and then.

"Thank you, my lord. I shall depart on the morrow", answered the princess hard as it was, and made another clumsy curtsy, and then she and her two companions turned away.

But as soon as they were back in her husband's chamber, Éowyn let out a sound of complete frustration.

"The moment I think he can't possibly make things any worse he strikes again! Oh, that snake just loves this, doesn't he? It's the perfect chance to destroy the family of a man he so hates without having to dirty his hands!" she growled and paced back and forth, as if that would somehow bring a moment of enlightenment and tell her what to do.

"It's all right", Lothíriel tried, but Éowyn shot a glare at her.

"No, it's not! You're in no condition for a journey like that. You're too sick to travel all the way to Dol Amroth. And even if you weren't, the road would still be dangerous, and I doubt Wormtongue plans on sending a proper escort with you!" she ranted angrily. But the princess also understood the other thing behind it: when she was gone, Éowyn would be just so much lonelier. Left with an ailing king and a scheming snake was not a kind fate for even one so strong.

"I'll go with her and keep her safe", Elric put in, which at last brought down some of Éowyn's fury. Her eyes turned rather sad than angry, and she lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Dear Elric... if only that was enough", she said quietly and shook her head. She continued then, "Would you go and call Master Cyneric? We will have to talk with him, if Lothíriel is to leave Edoras and make it alive even as far as Aldburg... maybe that old fox Oferlof could think of something and hide you there along with Elfhild..."

Elric nodded and went along to find the healer, and Éowyn sat beside the princess. The younger woman looked down on her hands and felt the cold throbbing of doubt in her heart. Was she strong enough to survive the journey to Dol Amroth? Oh, this was no time for her to travel anywhere, and her health was the least of reasons! She had to be here, where her family was, support Éowyn and wait for her husband to come home. He would return, wouldn't he? And to come back and find her and the children gone...

None of this was going right and she was starting to wonder what would be the next ill thing to take place.

"I wish I knew what to tell you", Éowyn murmured, placing a hand on Lothíriel's shoulder.

"I know. We'll come up with something. And I promise I won't give up. I'm too stubborn to do that", said the princess in an attempt to cheer up her sister-in-law. "I would ask of you to look after Amrothos, any way you can. I know it's a lot to ask, but I hate having to leave him here all alone... he should be coming with me."

"Of course. I'll do whatever I can", Éowyn promised softly. He hugged the younger woman then gently, and for a moment the two of them spent there, trying to find their strength and resolve. At last Éomer's sister got up and organised a more practical look on her face.

"Now, we must pack up your things, and then-" she started, but her words were interrupted when Elric dashed back in and looking like Béma himself had ridden from the sky to put things right.

"It's Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey has come!"

* * *

As soon as he had delivered the news of the wizard's arrival, Lothíriel had told Elric to go ahead and see what was happening in Meduseld. That was something he did eagerly, because he was dying to have a closer look on the man he had heard so many stories of. When he had been making his way to fetch Master Cyneric, he had spotted the party of four approaching the Golden Hall, and one guard had muttered the wizard's name. At the sound of that Elric had instantly turned around and ran back to Aunt and Lothíriel.

Good wizards always rode with wise counsel, and Gandalf the Grey more often than others combined.

From Father's chamber he had dashed into the Hall and watched the events unfold. In wonder he watched as at last the snake that had tormented House of Eorl had been cast down... and Théoden King had risen from his throne, looking like many years had fallen from his shoulders. Suddenly, he was more like the man Elric remembered from his childhood years, and he had very nearly ran to his granduncle; but he was merely a kitchenmaid's son and so held back. Whereas Elfhild would have had no such hindrance.

Nevertheless, it did feel like the air had shifted in Meduseld, like fresh wind from the plains had swept away the heavy gloom. And seeing the look in Théoden's eyes, once again clear and sharp like it used to be, made the boy feel like perhaps there was a dawn coming.

Though the wizard's company was certainly odd in all ways – Elves and Dwarves did not walk these lands every day after all – the most fascinating member of it was the one called Aragorn. Tall he was like Father, but in his colouring he reminded Elric more of Lothíriel. And there was something about his face not of this age, but of a time long buried in the mists of ancient years. He was not perhaps fair the way Eorlingas were, but there was wisdom on those features; it was a face you'd expect to be carved on stone as an image of a great King of old. The whispers of couple of maidservants confirmed it: _He is one of the Dúnedain. _

Mesmerised by all that had happened, Elric quietly watched the King negotiate with the four guests. Though many things they spoke of were not good things, but terrible and dark, he found he was not really scared. How could he be anyway, when Théoden was healed and he had not only taken back the command that Lothíriel should leave Rohan, but also free Prince Amrothos? The young prince looked quite flabbergasted when he was escorted from the dungeons, but he grinned at the sight of Gandalf and his companions, and noted that _"My lord Mithrandir! I didn't know you were on your way here to do a bit of spring cleaning." _

That did rouse laughter, something not heard in this Hall in some time, and the prince had gone off to see his sister.

At one point, when Gandalf and Théoden were in the middle of a conversation and the three of his companions had finished the supper brought to them, Aragorn at last turned his eyes towards Elric. Those eyes were grey, perhaps a bit darker shade than Lothíriel's, and held knowledge and wisdom of years far longer than hers. He beckoned to Elric and swiftly he approached the man.

"Boy", said Aragorn, "what is your name?"

"I'm Elric, my lord", he answered and offered the man a clumsy bow. It made the Ranger smile briefly. But then that same look returned into his eyes, like he was somehow reading Elric's mind.

"You're Lord Éomer's son, aren't you?" he asked. A mention of his father made Elric smile, but also surprised him.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"You have his look and bearing. I saw him on the plains only yesterday", answered Aragorn softly.

"You did? Where was he going? Will he come back?" Elric asked quickly.

"He was riding north with his men – they had slaughtered a party of uruk-hai, but he was well and unharmed. I do not know where he might be now, but he must be beyond the borders of the realm already", the Ranger said. A shadow passed on his face, and the boy felt troubled too. Now at least the news the four travellers had brought a feeling of foreboding to him... for if Father was far away in North, how could he ride back and protect the realm before it was too late?

"Don't despair, young Elric", said Aragorn then and offered him a smile. "There is hope yet."

But wish as he might, Elric couldn't tell if that was true or just something this lord told him to make him feel better.

* * *

That evening after Amrothos had gone to find some supper, Théoden King appeared at the door of Lothíriel's chamber. It came as quite a surprise, though Elric had already reported his uncle had been cured of the weakness he had fallen into under Wormtongue's influence.

Still, the change in the man was dramatic. He stood tall and straight, unaided by the cane she had seen him using more often than not. Years had fallen away from his shoulders and face – it even seemed like some lines from his face had disappeared altogether. But perhaps the greatest change was his eyes: in them, there was a sharp and intelligent look, if sad. She could understand that, for he had lost his son.

"My lady", said Théoden upon entering, "I came to apologise for what took place before."

"My king, you shouldn't be coming to me, but the other way around!" she said quickly, trying to get up on her feet as fast as she could. But the King smiled gently and lifted his hand.

"Of course not, Lady. You are not quite healthy at the moment and I do owe you an apology. It was abysmal to let that worm try and send you away, for you are one of us", he said, gesturing her to sit back down.

"It's all right, my lord. I know you would not have ordered me to leave on your right mind", she said, even managed to smile.

He took a chair then and sat opposite her. Tenderly he picked up her hands and looked down on them.

"I am also very sorry for sending away your husband. He should be here, for I see you need him just as much as I do", he said softly. A look of regret flashed on his aged face, "Oh, my dear sister-son! I have done great ill in banishing him. He deserves more, after all he has done for this realm. And now he's the only one left who could rule after me... he ought to be here, for there is much I should tell and teach him."

"Lord, Éomer understands just as well. He would not blame you either, and he will come home if you just call him", she told him. Suddenly, it felt like she was not only talking to a king but also a father-in-law. Well, Théoden was the closest thing to one. It was an odd realisation.

The King made a sound which was probably meant to be in agreement. He remained silent for one moment more, and then looked up at her.

"I never welcomed you properly into the family, my lady. Your patience and tolerance are quite formidable, I must say... but I am glad that our House has received such an addition, even if you have not been treated with respect a princess deserves. Your presence here is an honour and a blessing", said Théoden, almost as if half to himself.

"Be it as may, I have not been unhappy", Lothíriel said.

"You love my nephew?" the King asked. The question was not uncomfortable and answering it brought her no uneasiness.

"I do. More than I'd ever have guessed I would", she murmured, thinking of her dear husband. A thought of him brought a brief smile to her face, but also made her feel so much longing.

"Lady, I can't tell how glad that makes me. I have often worried for my sister-son, for he is such an angry young man", said Théoden, "but if I know him at all, he loves you as well. Both of you deserve the happiness of loving and being loved in return."

She could but nod at that. How different he was now, this king that had seemed so old and frail and far! It made her wonder how it might have been if Gríma Wormtongue had never woven his webs in Meduseld, and she felt anger for the accursed man for bringing division where light and love could have flourished.

Perhaps Théoden had similar thoughts, for his expression was regretful. But then it became sharp and alert again. He asked: "My lady, I would like to hear all that happened to you while you were captive, and how my sister-son was able to win against Dunlendings."

* * *

The rider had arrived from Edoras not long after Oferlof's men had taken captive those who had sought to take away Elfhild. He came bearing a word from Lady Éowyn: Princess Lothíriel was ill and was asking for Hrodgar.

After grumbling to himself for a while how this was yet another reason for why the Lady should never have left Aldburg, he said he would come.

"If that Cyneric can't help her then it must be something serious and I must go to her", Hrodgar muttered to Scýne.

"Aye", said Éothain's wife, "and that is why I will come with you."

He glanced at her and frowned; apparently she read the question on his face, because Scýne offered him a dry little smile.

"I know you prefer solitude to company, but if the Princess is not well I should come and see to her. She's my friend, after all. And anyway, I have had no word of Éothain or my brother Silfbár since they left Aldburg. I wish to know what has come out of them", she explained.

"What of the children?" Hrodgar asked. "I was counting that you'd look after Elfhild."

"Lady Eadmod and my mother will be here. Ceola will stay here as well, and it's not like the household lacks caretakers. And Oferlof will know to exercise utmost security after events of late, so Elfhild will be safe", Scýne answered.

Leaving Elfhild was certainly something he didn't like, especially since the princess had trusted him with looking after the little one. But taking her to Edoras was out of question at the moment. Miss as she might her parents, Elfhild would have to stay behind.

"I asked you before why you were so ready to take Elfhild away from harm's way. I didn't realise then I should have asked why you do any of this, Hrodgar", Scýne said, studying him intently. "Considering all I know of you – before Lothíriel, that is – I would never have thought you'd ever show such loyalty to anyone."

Hrodgar shrugged.

"You ordinary people always think there ought to be some great and wonderful reason for things. It's simpler than that for me. The Princess just happened to show me kindness when she had no reason to do so", he answered nonchalantly.

Scýne's face did not show what she thought of that, but there was a smile on her face nonetheless.

"Whatever your reason may be, I'm glad", she said. Fortunately she spoke no more then, for conversing his motivations was not Hrodgar's favourite thing.

As soon as they both were ready, Hrodgar and Scýne along with some riders to escort them departed for Edoras. Because he had no idea of how dire the Lady's need might be, he prompted they make haste on their way to the capital.

They arrived at nightfall. The sun had already gone down and torches lid their way up towards the Golden Hall. At their arrival Hrodgar had wondered what he might find in Meduseld, but observing the faces of the guards seemed to imply something had happened in Edoras... and it didn't look like that something was bad.

At last they reached the courtyard of the Golden Hall, and stablehands came to receive their horses. Glancing at Scýne confirmed she too had sensed the change in the atmosphere, even if she rarely came to Edoras. They exchanged a look as they made their way inside, both wondering what had taken place since they had last had news from the capital.

Éowyn strode to meet them halfway to the house. Though the White Lady never seemed very happy to Hrodgar, now she looked like at least one of her burdens had been lifted.

"My lady", said the soothsayer at the sight of her, "I have come at the summon of Princess Lothíriel. Is she very sick?"

"A miscarriage has left her weak and unhealthy", Éowyn said in a low voice and a shadow held her eyes for a moment. "Master Cyneric knows not how to help her."

Hrodgar sighed and shook his head. Perhaps he should have seen this coming... but then, the child had been strong and healthy when he had last looked upon the princess. _It would have been another daughter, more like her mother's kin in look and mood than __Marshal's other children__... _but he pushed that thought away, for it was no use to dwell on what could have been.

"Take me to her", Hrodgar muttered, and Éowyn nodded; Scýne followed them as well. As they made their way towards the princess' chamber, he glanced at the King's niece, and asked: "How are matters in Edoras?"

"Gríma Wormtongue has been cast down. Wizard Gandalf is here – he is the one who revived our King. With him came three strangers from distant lands: Lord Aragorn of the Dúnedain, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Master Gimli of the Dwarves", answered Éowyn. "Things are as well as they may be in these dark times."

"I see", Hrodgar simply said, though these news did actually surprise him. Who would have thought? But it was for the better as far as he was concerned. Darkness had ruled here long enough and he at least would not miss the reign of Wormtongue.

"These are certainly wonderful news. If only we had known, I'd have brought Elfhild too – Lothíriel would no doubt love to see her and the girl misses her very much. But what of Éothain my husband, and Silfbár? Have they gone with Lord Éomer?" Scýne asked.

Hrodgar noticed the faint shift in Lady Éowyn's expression and knew that at least one of those two men had met his fate, but he wasn't sure which. He said nothing, though. Perhaps it would be better to let Éowyn answer Scýne's question.

"I will explain everything in a moment", she promised, and the frown on red-haired woman's face implied she too suspected something ill had happened.

But they were at the chamber door already and Hrodgar had other concerns presently.

"She is sleeping at the moment, but I can go and wake her", Éowyn said.

"No matter", he answered; the women fell behind and quietly he stepped in.

The princess was indeed sleeping and was not awakened by his arrival. She looked pale and unwell, and Hrodgar frowned.

_You should have listened to me. _

He limped as quietly as he could, until he was beside the bed and sat down on the edge of it. Gently, he lifted covers from her torso, and lay a hand on her stomach. True it was, as Éowyn had said. There was no new life pulsating there now. Hrodgar sighed again and knew what a hard blow it must have been to lose the child.

He concentrated then and closed his eyes, sliding his hand over her body so slowly and carefully as to not wake her. The longer he worked like this the surer he was: her energy, her life's force, was wrong. It wasn't her body that was ill, but something else... he had seen this before, but back then he had not been able to do anything about it. A woman had lost a child and her life's force had suffered – she had come to him for help. But the only thing he could do was to tell her perhaps time would heal her, though even if it did she'd not have another child in her life.

The woman had died years ago now, but Princess Lothíriel was alive and she had yet to fulfil Ethelgifu's prophecy.

_She can't be the mother of kings if she can't give birth to a son. _

Slowly he began to work. From her neck to her breast, heart, stomach, under navel... the energy flowed, but this time his touch was not to harm. Now he did not seek to use this force against its bearer, but rather to help her. One by one, he found those points where the flow came close to the surface, and forced the tide to turn. It was laborious work, and each point left him feeling a bit more tired.

But the tides did turn and the princess let out a long sigh in her sleep, as if letting go of some burden she had carried until now. To his weary eyes her face seemed a bit softer, a bit more relaxed.

He had succeeded.

"You will live up to your fate yet, Princess Lothíriel", he muttered quietly, feeling the exhaustion in his very bones. "But most importantly, _you will live_."

* * *

**A/N:** I return with a sudden update. I didn't think the next chapter would be ready so soon, but this was particularly easy to write and I had some idle hours today, so here it is.

The song Lothíriel sings to herself in the beginning of the chapter is from the ballad _Willie's on the Dark Blue Sea _by H. S. Thompson, though some slight modifications to fit the scene better.

Gandalf and others have now entered the stage and we'll be getting to Helm's Deep in the next chapter, I think. I know I didn't address to the fates of Birte and Dreda in this chapter - I couldn't really do that in a way that would have worked here - but we'll return to them in the next update. In case you were wondering, Amrothos was treated moderately well while he was imprisoned. Either Wormtongue was not yet as bold as to harm him or he had some plans for using Amrothos. But that is now quite irrelevant.

I did not write the exact scene of Gríma's fall, because that's already shown in detail in books and in the movie, and I don't think Elric's point of view would have added anything too important. I'm not sure if this was a good choice, though. But hopefully it doesn't bother you.

What Hrodgar does to Lothíriel at the end of this chapter is a more benevolent form of his ability to affect _fëar. _At leat to me it seems plausible, and hopefully you readers agree about that. Also I wanted to add a scene where Lothíriel meets the real Théoden, which I rather liked writing about. I think he took the news of her miscarriage pretty heavily.

As usual, thanks for comments!

* * *

**gamabunta95 - **The difficulty with that would be the multiple plot threads I have going on. I would rather spend some time with clearing out all - and making the motivations of characters understandable and relatable - than just shoddily run through the story without giving it the needed care and attention.

**A Light in the Night - **Elric is a sweetheart, yes. And I'm really glad to see that people like him! When I came up with him I feared the reaction to him would be bad, but luckily that doesn't seem to be so!

**Kiiimberly - **He is indeed. But Gondor is far away and at this point war is very near, so he dares to do it.

**Talia119 - **The matter of Dreda will have to wait for a bit, though I confess I'm contemplating on the details of it. I do have an image of where she's ultimately going but some particulars need adjustment still.

This chapter should also answer your wonderings about Elfhild and Lothíriel!

**1607hannah - **That is good to hear! For myself, I always admire in writers when they can make me feel like that for characters, so I'm really glad to hear I succeeded in it too!


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Upon waking Lothíriel felt better than in days. In fact, she hadn't felt so good ever since she and Elric had been taken captive by the Dunlendings. That was physically at least, for the hurts of loss and being parted from Éomer were not something to heal overnight.

Still, it felt like some of her strength had even returned, and she got up just to feel out this refreshing change. Quietly she wandered towards the window and wondered where this feeling had come from. As she thought back on yesterday, she couldn't think of any reason for why she should feel better now.

These thoughts also reminded her of the reason for her illness of late, and touched her stomach. She sighed and closed her eyes, hoping away the pain... yet knew it hurt only because she cared.

Éomer had not been the only one to say it wasn't her fault – that she couldn't have known what would happen. But she knew it would be long, if ever, before she could forgive herself. And the thought of him... the vastness of distance between them, and all that had happened... the pain felt even more intense. _She needed him. _

The choking feeling threatened to consume her and tears burned her eyes, but a knock on the door brought her back. She forced away this moment of weakness; she could wallow in it later.

"Come in", she called and hated how thin her voice sounded. But if Hrodgar noticed it as he entered, it didn't show on his face. But that was never a guarantee in his case.

"Hrodgar! I was starting to wonder already whether you'd come at all", Lothíriel said, even managed a smile for him.

"I arrived late last night. Your ladyship was already asleep then", he said in that familiar gruff manner of his, which surprisingly made her feel fond. There was always something reassuring about his no-nonsense attitude.

"I'm glad that you came, though it seems it was in vain to call you. I'm feeling so much better today", she said and gestured him to sit down. A strange little half-smile touched Hrodgar's bearded face.

"It was not in vain, my lady", he said. "And it is good to hear I was successful."

That made her frown and she searched his face for an answer.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I was with you late last night, Princess. You were asleep, which is for the better, for I would not like to explain what I did. You need only know you will heal", said Hrodgar.

"I'm fairly sure I do need to know what you did", Lothíriel said. She had no recollection of Hrodgar being there last night. What could he possibly have done to make her feel better? On the other hand, she did know he was not an ordinary healer.

"I'm not certain I could explain or that you would understand. But if you insist, Princess, your spirit was hurt and I happen to know how to deal with it", muttered the soothsayer.

"That doesn't really answer my question", she complained, still frowning.

"If you must know, it wasn't entirely different from what I did for you daughter when she was ill", Hrodgar answered, looking away. He was never really too eager to share the extent of his knowledge and abilities, and really perhaps he shouldn't be accused for it.

"I see. I thank you, Hrodgar and assure you I will remember all that you have done for me and my family", Lothíriel said, considering perhaps she shouldn't push him. After all, the important thing was that she felt better now. "Speaking of Elfhild, how is she?"

"She is fine. Ceola stayed after to take care of her. She does miss her mother, though", said the old man.

"I miss her too. I wish she could be here", said the princess quietly, thinking of her little one. It must have been a difficult time for the child, being parted from both of her parents. And the worst thing was Elfhild was too young to even understand the reason for it. Perhaps she could soon go home...

"She is better off in Aldburg at the moment", Hrodgar said, lowering his voice. His brow furrowed, "for there is peril in the realm now and its moment draws nearer."

Then, as if to confirm Hrodgar's words, Elric dashed in, closely followed by Éowyn. Both looked very grave and instantly Lothíriel knew something was afoot.

"Well? What is it? Spit it out and don't stand there looking like someone just grew another head", Hrodgar grumbled. He never wasted time to courtesies.

"There's no need to be rude, Hrodgar", Lothíriel told him, though she too felt anxious. She searched the faces of Elric and Éowyn, and asked: "Is something amiss?"

They exchanged a look, and then Éowyn spoke.

"It's the King, Lothíriel. He has ordered to evacuate Edoras. We are going to ride for Helm's Deep."

* * *

By midday, almost the entirety of Edoras' population was on the move. Even prisoners from the dungeons had been taken along, though that was not to say there were many of them. Most of the prisoners taken lately had been enemies of Wormtongue and their crimes had consisted more of opposing him than any actual foul deeds. However, there were few of them who had actually done ill things, and not least of them was Dreda daughter of Deorwine. Like Amrothos, she appeared to have survived her captivity rather well so far, but Lothíriel couldn't tell why that was. Perhaps Wormtongue had not dealt with her because he had hoped imprisonment would break her. If the intention had been successful she couldn't tell, because Dreda's eyes remained cold and expressionless as she travelled in the middle of guards.

Be it as may, Lothíriel found she did not want to think of the woman any more than she had to. Théoden King would no doubt judge her according to her crimes once he could, but for the moment there were more important things to engage his attention. Survival of the Mark was far more important than dealing with criminals like Dreda.

The Dunlending women Wormtongue had taken captive also came along, but they were not treated as strictly as prisoners anymore. The King had decreed they had no part in what schemes Wormtongue and their deceased leader had harboured, and the company of evacuees was as good chance as any for them to return to their own land. Elric at least was happy about this development: as soon as the women were brought out, he ran to meet the healer woman who had taken him and the princess under her wing in the Dunlending camp. Odd as it may be, the two appeared to have become friends. But then, such was the way of Elric's open heart.

As they left Edoras behind, Lothíriel gazed at the capital of Rohan and wondered if she'd see this place again. She was not in the counsels of the King and so she had no clear idea of what was waiting them, but she had heard Wizard Gandalf had ridden away like the storm wind, and all over the town there was talk of war.

"I think it's dangerous for us to go like this. With so many women and children we are an ideal target for any malicious intents", Amrothos muttered to her. He was riding Ǽfnung beside the wagon Lothíriel travelled in (though she was on the mend she had been informed by Éowyn, Amrothos and Hrodgar that she should not yet ride). Elric was currently walking with Birte his friend, Éowyn was conversing with Gimli the Dwarf, and Hrodgar rode behind the wagon looking like he was completely lost in his own thoughts.

"But the King's own guard is here, as are Lord Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Not to mention you, brother", Lothíriel pointed out.

"Hmph. Do you have any idea what Father will do to me if you get killed?" he grunted.

"You mean you're going to survive, no matter what will take place?" she asked back.

"Of course I will. I'm Prince Amrothos, after all", said her brother.

"As if I could forget that", his sister snorted. That brought a brief smile to his face, but then he frowned again and she guessed he was again worrying about the fate of this escort.

"I was wondering", Lothíriel said then, if just to distract him for a while, "what do you think of my Rohirric family? You've been here with us for a while now, but you've never really said much about them."

"Well, they're nice people as far as I'm concerned. Your daughter is a complete sweetheart of course, and Elric is a nice lad. And Lady Eadmod – why can't we have a grandmother like her back in Dol Amroth?" he said at length.

"What of my husband and Éowyn?" she asked.

"I think both of them would do well if they laughed some more every now and then. I'm sometimes intimidated by how... how stern they are. I suppose they're courageous and honourable people, but some happiness would not hurt them", Amrothos answered, staring ahead thoughtfully. He then glanced at Lothíriel, and said: "I'm not sure Lady Éowyn really likes me, though."

"Why do you say that?" she wondered.

"It wasn't so obvious before, especially when I returned to look for you. But then we had a common interest in the safety of you and your husband. Now that has been taken care of, I... I don't know. It's like there's something about me she disapproves of. We don't talk much but it's not so friendly sometimes how she looks at me", Amrothos mused. Lothíriel frowned.

"But why would she dislike you?" she wondered out loud, but her brother just shrugged.

"Don't ask me. You know her better than I do", he said.

They didn't talk more then, and Amrothos rode forward to exchange few words with Lord Aragorn. The young prince appeared to be rather interested in this ragged Ranger, and for a good reason as far his sister could say. After all, she had heard one of the older members of the King's household saying he had known this man many years ago, when Thengel had still been alive; evidently Aragorn had then gone by the name of Thorongil, but where others had aged he had changed little.

It was true, like the stories said: in the Dúnedain of the North the ancient blood of Westernesse ran purer than any other people who now lived in Middle-earth.

Her thoughts were then disrupted, for Scýne rode next to the wagon. Her eyes were dry now but grief was still there; she had received news of her brother's fate last night.

"How are you feeling?" asked the princess softly. Her friend managed a brief little smile, though it didn't really reach her eyes.

"Don't worry for me, Lothíriel. I will be fine, sooner or later. My brother... he knew what he was doing. He'd consider it an honour to die defending you, who are wife to his Marshal. It is a fact of life that sometimes the rider leaves and does not return, and Eorlingas accept it", Scýne said softly. She looked away and continued, quieter this time: "He rides with Béma now."

"I'm sorry about what happened. If I had just-" said the princess, but the red-haired woman looked at her sharply.

"No. Don't you think that. Blaming yourself for what happened to him is not going to bring him back and I knew Silfbár well enough to tell you that he'd never accuse you either", Scýne told her firmly. Lothíriel nodded quietly and hoped she could have said something to comfort her friend. But loss of family member was not something to be healed by gentle words. The princess knew that very well herself, for last night Théoden King had brought her a word of the death of Boromir. She had not cried on the front of the King, but the moment he had left and Amrothos had returned, she had broken down.

And she had remembered watching Boromir ride away with Prince Théodred and thinking whether she'd ever see him again. Oh, she should have known! She should have prevented him from going, or at least told him all the things she never did when he was alive... Now both of those men were gone and their peoples were sorely missing them; but she also knew what severe blow it would be for her uncle. Lord Denethor would not receive a word of Boromir's death well.

The thought of her cousin brought back that choking feeling and Lothíriel sighed heavily, watching the landscape and trying to find some comfort there. Scýne too appeared to be fighting her grief. They remained quite for a while before the princess spoke again.

"You miss your husband?" she asked softly, if just to distract them both for a moment. That was at least something they could both understand.

"I do", Scýne said, "but even if I had the power to change it, I wouldn't prevent him from going with Lord Éomer."

"Why, if I may ask?" Lothíriel wondered out loud.

Scýne's face was without smile, but it was a determined look that she gave the younger woman.

"They are the Sons of Eorl, Lothíriel. And us women of the Mark, if we love them, do not ask them to stay when their duty calls them. We may fear for our men and worry for them but to hold them back would be wrong", she said. The princess thought of this for a moment and nodded then.

"I am glad he is with my lord husband. If Éothain hadn't gone with Éomer, I'd fear for him much more than I do now", she confessed.

"Aye. Those two have a way of finding a way through danger and darkness, especially when they ride together", Scýne agreed.

The company travelled forward. Before long Elric returned to travel with Lothíriel, and Amrothos came back too. The prince launched into an adventurous (and obviously imaginary) story of his imprisonment, which included many insane escape attempts and heroic fights. It entertained Elric very much and even the princess found herself chuckling at Amrothos' tale every now and then.

Come afternoon they stopped on the plains for a rest and some food. Elric brought – or dragged – Birte the healer woman to meet Lothíriel; as much as she had helped the princess when she had been sick, now she didn't seem too comfortable.

"My lady", said the Dunlending woman and made a clumsy little gesture that was probably supposed to be a curtsy.

"Mistress Birte", Lothíriel answered and offered the other woman a smile she hoped was friendly and welcoming, "I'm glad to see you are fine and unharmed."

"It seems that man Wormtongue did not really know what to do with us, so we were just left waiting for the most parts", Birte said.

"I suppose even he, as pitiless as he was, did not quite dare to harm defenceless women", Lothíriel mused. The healer nodded.

"Aye, my lady. I'm rather glad we were not too high on his list of urgent matters", she said. Her brow furrowed then, "What became of your lord husband, Princess? I have not seen him and it does not seem anyone cares to share news with us."

That question made Lothíriel frown. Once again she remembered that one last desperate moment she had shared with her Marshal, and all her doubts whether it had been the last time she'd see him.

"Wormtongue had him banished. He was seen riding north couple of days ago, and he is probably far away by now", she said sadly and shook her head. Forcing aside her hopeless thoughts she tried to smile and said: "Mistress, I never got the chance to thank you for what you did for me. I would probably be dead now if you had not helped me."

Birte smiled as well and she curtsied again.

"It was an honour, my lady. Common healers like myself rarely have patients so noble", she said. "And at least part of it is because young Elric and his refusal to give up."

Lothíriel cast a smile at her husband's son; the boy sat a bit straighter and seemed flattered.

"I know. I owe my life to the both of you, and am thankful for all you did for me", she said softly. "My lord husband is thankful as well. Hopefully he can tell you that himself one day."

"I'm sure he'll return, Lady Princess", Birte reassured her. Hoping she was right about that, Lothíriel nodded quietly and tried not to think of the alternatives too much.

The conversation was then interrupted as an unexpected participant asked to join the princess and Elric for their meal. Wide-eyed, Birte made way and curtsied yet again: Lord of the Mark had arrived to the scene. Théoden King gave the healer woman a friendly smile and Elric hurried to give his grand-uncle his place on the edge of wagon.

"My lord", Lothíriel said, bowing her head to the kindly old man.

"Lady Lothíriel", he greeted her and received with thanks a bowl of hot stew from Éowyn, who had returned to wait on him. He then looked at the princess again, "How are you faring?"

"I'm fine. It seems I am getting better, my king", she answered.

"That is good to hear. After Éomer has returned and this war is finished, Rohan will need her future Queen", said Théoden, not ungently. She looked at him quickly.

"You believe that all will turn so well, my lord?" she asked, not really daring to think of a future where she indeed was a queen.

"A king should always try and trust in hope, even it is hard. For if he loses himself to despair, it is not long before his men follow him", Théoden answered. Lothíriel thought of that for a moment; it sounded a bit like something Father might say. Really, she thought her father should meet this new – or old – Théoden. Perhaps there would be time after war?

_After war... _

"Lord, what will Rohan do when the war does begin? I mean... if the Gondor is attacked?" she asked carefully. After all, strengthening the alliance of two realms had the incentive of her marriage to Éomer.

"We do what we must, like we always do", Théoden said gravely and she could tell he did not take pleasure in this topic, "but as the King of Rohan I must first see to the safety and well-being of my own people."

"Of course, my lord", she said softly, though she still felt troubled. She thought of her old home back in Dol Amroth... if the war did come to Gondor, it wasn't just Minas Tirith that would burn.

"I wonder, how does it make you feel, my lady, that I mean to declare your husband my heir once he returns?" he asked then. "How do you feel about the prospect of becoming the Queen?"

"It scares me, to be honest", she said at length, "even if I haven't really given it thought I perhaps should have. And lately, there has been so much going on... My king, I confess that I would have been happy as a Marshal's wife."

"But you are a princess, Lady. Whatever our intentions might have originally been, I do not think it was ever your fate to remain the Lady of Aldburg. Éomer is... he has the makings of a great king in him, if he would accept that path", Théoden said thoughtfully, almost as if to himself.

"He would, if only for your sake, my lord", Lothíriel said softly. "He loves you very much."

That brought a sad little smile to Théoden's face.

"I know", said the King and looked ahead. Then he looked at her again and this time his smile was not so melancholy. "Now, did he ever tell you of his father?"

"Not much. It seemed to pain him, my lord", said the princess.

"Aye. I wonder if he'd ever have become such a ferocious warrior had Éomund lived... you may think your husband hot-tempered, but Éomund was that tenfold. Reckless he was, which in the end cost his life. But a good man nonetheless, and one of the best riders and warriors I've known, save for his son. Éomund was one of the greatest friends I've ever had", Théoden said, his voice slow and soft. She could tell he too missed this man who had been gone so long, just like his mother and children did. Perhaps even more now when the future of the kingdom was at stake.

"Éomund lived with such a passion, like he was so in love with life – and life was in love with _him._ In that Éomer is very alike to his father, though his spirit is more consumed rather by anger than joy. Perhaps that is changing now, though... you know how it is when he enters the room? It's like he takes a lot more space than he actually does. Éomund was like that too. It's no wonder Théodwyn loved him so, and was so heartbroken when he was gone. He had left the world so empty when he died", he continued and sighed. For a moment he was silent and looked down, but then he glanced at the princess again and smiled. "Forgive me. Perhaps you're not so interested in listening to an old man ramble about people long gone. It is just I'm remembering so many things these days, things I thought I had forgotten."

"It's all right, my lord. I'm glad to hear more about Éomund and Théodwyn. I haven't dared to ask of them from others, as I've feared it would cause pain. I understand they were well loved by their family and friends", Lothíriel answered quickly.

Théoden smiled and looked like he'd have spoken more, but then the Captain Háma of King's guard arrived and suggested they move forward. The company had rested and eaten already and were all ready to go.

The King got up on his feet and bowed his head at Lothíriel.

"I fear we must cut our conversation here. I'd like to talk more, but duty calls us and we must continue later", he said.

"Of course. I look forward to it, my lord", she said, smiling as she spoke.

The King mounted his horse then and rode along with his men. Elric hopped on that place beside her and soon the wagon began rolling forward again. Amrothos too joined them, riding by the side of the wagon.

But it was not long after that the sounds of alarm spread, and the air electrified as the fighting men among were called to gather: somewhere ahead, ill things were afoot.

"What is it? What's going on?" Lothíriel asked her brother. But her question was answered about as soon as it was out of her mouth.

"Warg riders!" shouted one of the King's Riders, and exclamations of terror filled the air.

"I must go and help", Amrothos said briskly, loosening his sword in its sheath. A part of her would have liked to ask him stay, though she knew she couldn't. Gathering Elric close, she gave her brother a solemn look.

"Stay safe, brother", she told him. Ever the cheerful one, he grinned.

"I'll bring you a warg pelt, sister", he said and rode, and Elric watched him go.

"I could go too – I could-" he began, but Lothíriel cut that sentence right there.

"I'd like you to stay with me", she said. Though she managed to keep her voice quiet and calm in this situation, it seemed to have the impact she had hoped for. The boy's face softened and he nodded.

The company, and the wagon along with it, was turned to take another route, and somewhere behind the hills there was a noise of battle. And like the last time she had been on these plains, Lothíriel felt fear hammering where her heart was supposed to be.

"It's going to be all right", she murmured to Elric, though she had no idea if that was actually true.

* * *

The Hornburg was an impressive sight even for someone who had grown up in the stone palaces of south. When the company rode into that ancient fortress the Sea Kings of old had built in the embrace of mountains, she instantly recognised the handiwork: it was the same as Minas Tirith and her own old home by the sea. As she looked upon this place Lothíriel could very well understand why the King had chosen this place as a refuge. It was difficult to imagine anyone invading such a strong castle.

But there were more urgent things than gazing at the fortress in wonder. There behind the walls fugitives from Westfold were already filling the halls and chambers. Théodred had begun he work of bringing them in and as the situation grew more dire in the kingdom, more had arrived.

Lord Erkenbrand was the master of the fortress now that the Prince was gone, and his wife, Lady Léoma, came to receive the princess. She was a lovely woman with long auburn hair and bright blue eyes, and tall even for a woman of Rohan. Beside her came a young woman who could only be her daughter. The likeness between the two was striking, though the younger of the two had lighter hair with a tendency to curl.

"I am sorry to say we are quite cramped at the moment, with all the refugees from the lands near this fortress. I am quite busy presently as well, for I have many in need to care for and mouths to feed. My daughter Elswite will look after you and find you lodgings", said the lady, and her daughter curtsied.

"Thank you, my lady", said Lothíriel and gave a smile to the young woman. She estimated they were about the same age.

"If you would follow me, my lady. Though I must warn you, I'm not sure if we have a place fit for a princess with so many refugees in the fortress", Elswite said and lead them in. Though she was faring better, Elric and Hrodgar still trailed after her as if they didn't quite believe she could make it on her own. While she knew it was because of a genuine concern, it was still kind of frustrating.

"It's fine. As long as we have a roof over ourselves and some sufficiently warm spot to sleep on, we're all right", Lothíriel reassured the woman.

"I must ask the Princess receive some warm and dry place for rest. She has been quite ill recently", Hrodgar put in, his voice grumbling like he was already going through all the things that could go wrong.

"Of course. Father would no doubt murder me if he heard Lord Éomer's wife was here and she caught ill because of my sloppiness", Elswite answered and smiled.

She found a place for them in the inner part of the castle, in a chamber Éowyn would share with Lothíriel and Elric. Hrodgar too looked like he wouldn't wander far even if he was told to do so. But as soon as they were settled down, the princess' mind instantly returned to the plains and to her brother... her dear, dear brother, fighting off wargs. She had heard of them but had never seen one. Still, stories were enough to inform her they were nasty beasts.

Elric, being the dear heart he was, noticed of course.

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. I'm sure Amrothos will return all right", he reassured her. She gave him a weak little smile and hugged him.

"Let us hope so", she mumbled and closed her eyes.

Elswite sensed the need for some comforting words, or at least wanted to give them something else to think about. So she sat across them and asked about Gondor and Dol Amroth; in turn, she'd tell of her own life in the Hornburg, which apparently was the most abysmal place in all of Middle-earth. She'd have loved to come and stay in Edoras, but her parents had forbidden it.

"And ever since the Prince died, it has been even more bleak here. It's like the world is ending. I suppose it's understandable, what with Isengard so close to us... but you can take only so much of doom and dreariness before it starts to smother you", she said, shaking her head.

"It seems to be much the same in all the realm", Lothíriel said softly, wrapping her shawl tighter about her shoulders. "And based on what I've seen in Edoras, I'd say you've been happier to stay here in Hornburg. Though perhaps, if we should live beyond these days, it will probably be different in the capital now that the King has been revived..."

"Aye. I've heard of what that snake called Wormtongue did to him", Elswite agreed. "Is it true then? The King is free of ill influence?"

"It is. He seems a completely different man now – wise and kind, though sad", Lothíriel confirmed. The young Rohir woman nodded gravely, doubtlessly thinking of Prince Théodred.

"Would you then say we have hope of enduring this storm? Surely there must be, if Théoden is once again leading us", she wondered out loud.

"I don't know. I'm not exactly in the King's counsels, and when the hammer of war will fall... I don't know how severe its blow might be", Lothíriel said softly, thinking of her brother again.

"Prince Théodred said there's always hope as long as there is one man left in the Mark willing to lead our people and fight", Elswite said. "Perhaps Théoden is that man, or his sister-son."

"But Lord Éomer is not in the land", the princess pointed out.

"He may yet return. It is said that the House of Eorl is also the House of Sun, and I do not think it is yet a time for that sun to go down", said the Rohir woman.

But whether she was right remained yet to be seen.

At nightfall, Elric turned out to be right: there were shouts from outside and noises of riders returning. The princess, accompanied by Elric and Elswite went along to see the men, and all the way outside Lothíriel's heart hammered with fear. What if something had happened to Amrothos on the plains? What should she tell their father if her brother fell here, far away from his homeland?

But as soon as they got out, she spotted his blue raiment among the King's green-cloaked riders, and his dark hair stood out as well; she let out moan of relief and hugged Elric tight.

"I told you he would come", said the boy, though his grin was that of relief too.

Then prince saw them and he came leaping up the stairs, smiling at his sister and Elric.

"There you are, sister. You can stop looking like a warg ravaged your house", he said and caught both her and Elric in a bear-like hug. "Though I must apologise for not bringing the pelt of one for you. Even a troll would not want such an ugly rug in his cave."

"You're completely absurd", Lothíriel mumbled weakly. Amrothos smiled and they made way inside, and she never took notice of the wide-eyed, appreciative looks Elswite gave to the young prince.

* * *

Waking up on the morrow was a disappointment, for Éomer had dreamt of his wife, and the waking world where she was far away seemed cold and bleak. One moment more he spent there under the warmth of his cloak and thought of her, hoping to slip back into sleep... but it was morning already and he had to leave his hopes and longing for the dark hours of night.

The air of sunrise was brisk and cool. The camp was starting to wake up and the quiet voices of men broke the silence. Some were still in the blessed realm of dreams and lay scattered around the ground; the Marshal had to take care of where he stepped lest he walked over a sleeping man.

Firefoot greeted him with a neigh as he approached the horse. Like he did on every morning on road, Éomer's first task was to check on his steed. After all, there was no rider without a horse.

Though he had taken a look at the stallion's legs and hoofs last night, he checked on them again, in case during the night Firefoot had hurt himself. But all was as should and the horse searched his hand for a treat.

"I'm sorry, old fellow. I have no apples for you this time", he murmured gently. Firefoot chortled and tossed his head, looking a bit like he was considering biting his master, and Éomer quickly removed his hand from the reach of the steed's teeth.

"You foul-tempered old dragon", he chuckled and turned back towards the camp.

Indeed, as slowly strode back, he thought of their dwindling provisions. Wormtongue had not given them a chance for taking proper supplies, and each rider had as much as had been left in their saddlebags. At least there was plenty of water on these plains, and going for a hunt was always an option.

He thought of his wife again and the image of her returned into his mind. Leaving her like that had been one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do. She was sick, she had lost a baby, and she needed him. He should have been with her now... and poor Elric, left with so much responsibility and all the world falling apart around him and Elfhild alone without her parents... oh, how he missed his family!

And how he loved his wife...

_She loves me in turn. She will wait for me. _

Éomer sighed and turned to look North. It was a perilous road ahead, and he had yet to figure out how they might pass by the infamous Golden Wood. One thing he knew at least and that was they couldn't stay in these wild lands for ever. In North – and if they by some miracle were able to travel that far – there was Dale and those lands Éothéod had long ago come from. Surely there they might find some kind of safe haven? There had to be work for a rider who could wield a spear and a sword...

Still, even as he knew he had not many alternatives now, it was a stinging wound to his pride. He, the Third Marshal of the Mark, banished from Rohan and forced to become a sellsword! His father would have been so ashamed.

But then, Éomer knew he had not many other choices. There was no way he could have gone south, and even less his pride would have allowed him seeking refuge from Imrahil's court. Though he did not doubt his father-in-law's hospitality, he'd rather find his way somewhere else.

After all, the truth was he had become a dishonoured man the moment they had driven him from Rohan.

_Oh, Lothíriel... _

She deserved more. She should have married Théodred – he'd never have caused such grief and pain to her, and perhaps there would already have been an heir in the land... but then, the idea of Lothíriel in the arms of any other man nearly had his blood boiling.

_What if they say her marriage to a traitor is not an abiding one? What if she moves on? What if... _

"You look like you're thinking of something very unpleasant. What is it, old friend?" asked Éothain. He had approached without the Marshal noticing – he had been too deep in his dark musings.

"My good captain, trust me when I say you don't want to know", muttered the younger man and rubbed his forehead. Éothain seemed to sense this statement was true and did not pursue the matter.

"Have you decided yet where we should head next?" he asked instead. He offered his friend some tea, steaming in small wooden mug riders kept in their saddlebags. Éomer muttered thanks as he received it and took a sip, thinking of his captain's question.

"It seems to me the North is the only way we can really go, though the road may be uncertain and dangerous", said the Marshal at length. "I'd stay here at the borderlands if we had proper supplies."

"In case your uncle changes his mind and calls us back", Éothain realised. "I see. That would be my counsel as well, but like you said, we don't have the supplies we would need. Do you have any idea of what path we should take North?"

"No. If there is a way past the Golden Wood, it has passed beyond the knowledge of Eorlingas. We could try west and see if there's some way by mountains... east I would not go, even if there was some way of crossing Anduin. There is shadow on the eastern banks I would not want to face with so few men", Éomer answered.

"We could always turn south, follow Anduin, and ride to Gondor", Éothain offered.

"Do you think Lord Denethor would receive us well? All that I know of him would not imply so, and it is possible he'd hold a grudge against me for wedding a precious princess of a high Gondorian House and then turning out a dishonoured man. I doubt he'd welcome any man who rides with me. Perhaps he'd even hold on to the alliance between our realms, and consider us all outlaws", said the younger man. His mood turned ever darker at the idea, and he sighed.

"There is no easy way about this, is there?" Éothain asked. Even he, the one with usually dauntless spirits, was starting to look worried.

"There has been no easy ways for us in a very long time", Éomer said quietly. Suddenly, he felt tired and discouraged and there was a part of him that would just have liked to lay down and give up. What point was there in fighting when all was doomed anyway? He'd not see his family again, and Rohan would fall, and all the world would be consumed by the flames of war...

But then he thought of his wife again and he knew he could not give up if he ever hoped to see her again. No, that was not what the men of the House of Eorl did – and that was what Éomund would never have done. Eorlingas were fighters and though the end might be bitter, he would go and meet it. Like Eorl and Helm and his sons before him, he'd go and see things done even if it killed him, and perhaps Elric and Elfhild would see a better day dawn upon the Mark.

"If only we could go back home and somehow get rid of that snake of a man..." he muttered to himself. Again he began to go over their options, but his thoughts were then interrupted as Heming approached the two men.

"Lord, there is a rider coming this way. He travels very fast", he said.

"Only one rider?" asked Éomer.

"Aye. Clad all in white, seems to me", Heming answered. The Marshal and his captain exchanged a confused look, both wondering what this was about. Nevertheless they followed Heming to the hill-top where he had been keeping an eye on the wild lands around them.

When they got up there, the rider was already approaching fast. Indeed he was clad in white, but what caught the Marshal's attention was the steed bearing this odd traveller. Fast and so effortless this horse galloped that he instantly knew he was looking at one of _mearas. _And the thought of that great line of horses brought back something he had heard only last year: the wizard Gandalf had taken Shadowfax, the apple of the King's eye, and the most magnificent of horses that now lived in the Mark.

But Gandalf had fallen and aside from the King he was the only one known to ride _mearas... _

"Who is that?" asked Éothain. He too appeared just as puzzled by this development. "Should I call for the men?"

"No", Éomer said, for as he watched the rider come closer, a sudden hope dawned in his heart, though he knew whence it came from. "I do not think this traveller means us ill."

And then at last the horse was climbing up hill towards them, and the horse indeed was none other than Shadowfax the great. The man he bore was so alike to Saruman yet so different, and only very briefly Éomer's hand rested on his sword's hilt. His hair was white as were his beard and raiment, but unlike Saruman he had bright blue eyes. In them, a great light shone.

_Gandalf had come. _

"Hail, Marshal Éomer!" called the wizard at last.

"Well met, Grey Wanderer", said the Rohir, "though you do not seem so grey to me now."

A smile appeared on that old lined face; at last Shadowfax was on the front of them and the wizard dismounted.

"I would hope to come with the white light of hope, my lord", Gandalf answered.

"And what word do you bring? They say your tidings are rarely good or hopeful", Éomer said; he had once seen this wizard long ago, and he seemed much changed. What had befallen him the Marshal could not tell, but it seemed to him if he had gone through shadow he had conquered it, and re-emerged stronger than ever before.

"I usually come with the necessary tidings. Otherwise there would be little to do for me; I was sent with a task of great need, after all", Gandalf said, his face turning serious. "And need drives me again. Not my own, but Rohan's. My lord, the Mark would call back her Son, for the land and the very life of the King are in peril, and the hour of war is upon us. Éomer son of Éomund is needed on the wide plains of the Riddermark, not in these misty wildlands. Will you leave your exile and come back with me, and ride for Helm's Deep where the King waits for you?"

There was only one answer Éomer could give.

"Aye. We will come!"

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a new chapter! I didn't mean to update so soon, but I know you guys are eager to read more.

Originally I meant we'd get to the Battle of Helm's Deep in this chapter and perhaps also have Éomer return. However, I soon realised I couldn't possibly get that far in just one chapter. I know there's lot of talking in this chapter but I believe all of it is necessary. For one, some of it is to tie up things (joining Hrodgar's thread with Lothíriel's again and Boromir's fate for example), and some is to make way for other events that are yet to come. Plus, I wanted to have her bond with Théoden some more, and this was really the only place where I could have those conversations happening.

I know it's kind of a slow chapter - and it's not my favourite either - but I couldn't figure out any other way to do this. However, we should get to the battle in the next chapter.

I know Amrothos comment about Éowyn not liking him seems cryptic here, but it will be clarified later.

Also I meant to talk more about Dreda in this chapter but decided eventually I couldn't fit any of it here. Whether Lothíriel's guess about her time in prison was right will remain to be seen.

Thanks for comments!

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **I really wanted to write him returning in this chapter, but that has to wait for a little while more.

**Sandy-wmd - **It seemed more than necessary, considering all the bad things that had happened lately.

I know this chapter answers your question only partly, so wait and see!

**Borys68 - **The meaning of that sentence was there to show Elric is starting to understand what it really means that he's an illetigimate child while Elfhild is not. No one would consider it strange or improper if Elfhild ran to hug his granduncle, but it would probably be frowned upon if Elric did the same.

Anyway, thanks for pointing it out. You're quite right it's not the best-formed sentence.

**Recovering4Life - **I confess I can't wait for it either! :D

**1607hannah - **Ha, I'm glad to hear I managed to make you worry! To move Lothíriel and the children to Minas Tirith would certainly have been one way to go, but that way I'm no sure how I'd have cleared out Helm's Deep and some other things I've planned.

Thanks on feedback about the scene of Gríma's downfall!

**Talia119 - **Seems like it's Helm's Deep for us! I'm not sure Amrothos would have wanted to travel with them, even if that had been possible. With the Swan Knights gone, he considers it too dangerous for now. Plus there's some stuff that needs to happen in Rohan...


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

As long as Lothíriel could remember, there had been talk of war and a darkness falling over the lands of Men. Ever during her childhood the shadow had grown in the east, and every now and then word of battles in north would come down to Dol Amroth. Her own father would sometimes be so busy with keeping guard of the coast as the pirates sought to ravage the land from sea, and the most important part of her brothers' education had seemed to be of teaching them skills of battle.

It had only gotten worse past few years, to the point where her very life had become the guarantee that when the war would come, the Rohirrim would ride for the help of Gondor and vice versa. How many times since then had he sent her husband to his many patrols, and waited for a word of him with an aching heart?

War had indeed been the ever-present and ruling factor of the climate of the world she had grown in, as unpredicted as its exact beginning might be. But now, on this dying day of spring over 3000 years since the Third Age had begun, it was about to burst in full flame.

In the caves beyond the fortress it was quiet, though that was not to say this last refuge was empty. All free space was indeed occupied by women and children, waiting here for the doom to fall.

And the men...

Men were outside, manning the walls, and though Lothíriel had originally thought this fortress invincible, now despair would swallow her heart. For how so few could possibly hope to defend the Hornburg from an army so vast as the news had it?

How could a bunch of old men and boys possibly survive ten thousand uruk-hai?

Trembling as she sighed, Lothíriel closed her eyes and tried to breathe deep. _He will make it. He's Éomer's son. He will survive. _

Elric's face had not betrayed fear when they had given him the shield and sword. Instead, he had looked ahead with determination that made him look even more like his father. But before he had gone, he had hugged Lothíriel for one last time and promised he'd be all right. She had been wiping tears from her eyes when she had made Amrothos swear he'd look after the boy once the battle started.

Strange it was to comprehend that Elric had been beside her ever since they had left Aldburg. In his youthful, boyish way he had done his best to look after her. He had been there on some of the darkest moments of her life, and his refusal to give up was very much the reason she had made it alive.

They couldn't have survived just to die here, could they?

Now, after the day of preparations and the pain of having to let go of dear ones gone to defend them all, a heavy silence had fallen over the Hornburg. All was set and the doom was hanging on a balance, about to fall and determine their fate.

And then at last with night they came, and so many iron feet there were that their trampling was heard even in the caves. There had to be thousands of them. Thousands against a few hundred.

Lothíriel held on tight to Elswite's hand and shared a grave look with Éowyn; her sister-in-law had not been able to hide from her the sword she had brought along here. Another noise came then, like thousands of spears hitting the ground, conjuring a fell song of death and war.

The Battle of Helm's Deep was about to begin.

* * *

Hrodgar son of Haleth remembered the hands of his father.

In fact, his hands were the chief thing he recalled about the man. They had been huge and strong and Hrodgar had believed he could crush stones in them if he just wanted. Warrior's hands, ungentle but skilled in the art of killing. Haleth had been a renowned rider and a trusted man of Lord Éomund... almost as reckless as the First Marshal himself. In the end their fates too weren't so different, for Haleth too died in battle, few years before Éomund had fallen. When Hrodgar had been younger, he had wondered if that had been for the better. For surely a man like Haleth, someone who took such joy and pride in his trade of warrior, would have been ashamed to have a crippled son who couldn't even wield a blade.

Even now, they would have given him one – they would have dragged him to the wall and have him get himself killed. Only the princess interfering had prevented it, and she had told them he served better as a healer than a fighter.

The young Hrodgar, the one who had feared he would have been a disappointment to his father, would have been ashamed.

The old Hrodgar, the man who had made his peace with his lot in life, was thankful.

_I'd rather like to live yet. _

But whether he'd live might yet be decided by other things than his own capability to fight, and when the battle at last began and the first injured man was carried in, he knew it might require nothing short of a miracle to get them even through the night.

Be it as may, Hrodgar son of Haleth had not inherited his father's huge fists. Instead, he had the hands of a healer.

* * *

Back in Edoras, the cell they had given to Dreda daughter of Deorwine had been small, dark and dank. The moment the guards had locked her there she had known what Wormtongue had meant to do with her. No, he wouldn't exercise torture on her, not yet at least. Perhaps he never would... for all his foul traits, the man didn't seem to be one for that kind of torment.

But that didn't mean he had no plans for her. No, not at all. He had meant the small space and being cut away from other people would break her spirit. Only then would he have doom for her. However, his own doom had come faster. Gríma Wormtongue ruled no more.

It was small change for her, though. For as the other cells had been opened and the prisoners released, Dreda's door had remained locked. With longing she watched others leave this dismal place, while she was left to wait for the moment when the King would see it fit to deal with her.

There were more important things in the kingdom, however. And so her doom would still have to wait. But she was tired of waiting.

Whether that doom would come by the King's decree or steel from Isengard remained to be seen. She too had travelled to Hornburg, though not out of her own volition. For some reason the King had decided to take her along, which didn't really surprise her. She doubted the man had any fond feelings for her, as he had been revived and that probably also meant renewed appreciation for his kin. And technically the Princess of Dol Amroth was a member of the King's family... in essence, Dreda's crime was against the royal house, and it was the worst kind of deed one could do.

So, she had come to Hornburg and expected to be chained there somewhere, but no one seemed to have time for her, except for her guard. She had been left aside to wait for... well, she wasn't so sure of what. But as the day had progressed she had understood that which everyone else already seemed to know. There was a battle ahead and no one knew if it was one that could be won.

Her moment had come not long before sunset. At that time Lady Léoma of Hornburg had at last come to give orders to take her to some cave serving as a dungeon, but at that Dreda had shot up.

"I'm of no use in any dank cave, my lady", she said. "I was a healer back in Edoras. Come the battle, you will need healers."

Lady Léoma exchanged a look with Lady Éowyn. Éomer's sister did not seem too convinced.

"This one is not to be trusted. She is a liar and a traitor", said the White Lady coldly.

_Odd, to think that you could have been my sister-in-law..._

Dreda lifted up her hands – they were shackled, but she could just about use them. It might prove difficult but she could dress a wound. And something told her there were going to be many, many wounds here before the night had ended.

"Do I look like I'm going to get away? And if it's true what I've heard about this battle, I'm not going to be able to just walk out the gate and escape", she pointed out dryly. "I'd like to do something else than to just rot in a cave while waiting some orc kind enough to find me and end my miserable existence."

"We do need more healers", Lady Léoma said quietly to Éowyn. She was quite obviously already convinced.

The fair-haired woman hesitated for one moment more. Then she nodded.

"Fine. You may help out with the injured", she decided. She gave Dreda a glare and continued, "but you better stay with the healers unless you do want to be thrown into dungeon. And if I were you, I wouldn't try to escape via the caves either. I will be there and I will not hesitate to cast you down if I catch one glimpse of you."

Dreda had just nodded as an answer, not bothering to point out she didn't believe she'd make it out alive anyway.

___This could very well be ____where it ends____. _

* * *

Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth remembered his grandfather Prince Adrahil as something of a warlike man.

The man had harboured this obsession about war, and he had insisted it'd break out sooner than later. In fact, Amrothos had sometimes thought the old man had been disappointed that it had not taken place during his life.

For his three grandsons, this had meant an extensive battle education: they had been trained with swords, bows, spears, axes, and just about every other weapon imaginable. Eventually all three had chosen swords as their primary weapon, though Elphir was always the best swordsman, but that didn't mean they were incapable when it came to different kinds of arms. The three princes were like bows drawn, waiting for that fateful moment when the flame of war would be kindled.

Sometimes Amrothos had resented his grandfather for all the long hours of training. He'd rather have spent his time otherwise, in some nicer way that left less bruises.

But now, now as he stood on the wall of Hornburg and beheld the armies of Isengard on the front of him, he was intensely grateful for the old man. It would have been a lie to say any battle training would truly have prepared him for this... but he _was _as prepared as one could possibly be.

He had a feeling that if he should survive this night, he'd owe it to Prince Adrahil's insistence that his grandsons train until their hands bled and bodies ached from countless blows from practice swords.

And yet, brave as he tried to be, he couldn't help but wish those Swan Knights he had travelled with him could be here... or better yet, his brothers.

"Damn it, Elphir! What would I give to have your sword with me here now..." he mumbled to himself and held on tighter to his bow.

But Elphir was far away, as was Erchirion and Father and Fainien and Aredhel... and who knew what fate would fall on them if this army below his feet would leave the Deep victorious?

He glanced at the boy beside himself, armed with bow like himself. Elric had grown much lately – he would soon be as tall as some grown men. And he was tall enough to use a bow now. Like Lothíriel had pleaded, Amrothos had insisted Elric stay close to him.

"You all right, laddie?" he asked the Marshal's son. Behind the cheek guards of his helmet, he looked pale. _This is his first fight. What a way to start!_

"Aye", was all Elric could manage then. Tense he stood, clutching his bow and ready to fire when the order came.

"Your father will come", Amrothos promised before he could even think of what he was saying. Who knew where Marshal Éomer now rode?

_Well, maybe he will come, if his horse can fly. _

"I know", Elric answered in any case. He even managed a grin, "I hope you didn't promise Lothíriel you'd bring her an ale mug made of an uruk's skull."

"It would go finely with the warg pelt", Amrothos grinned back.

His sister was right. He _was _absurd.

But she had no idea just how absurd he could be, and he had to live through this night to be able to show her. That was, if dawn would bring any hope.

He thought of bright blue eyes and curly auburn hair, and a young woman back in the caves... somewhere near Lothíriel, perhaps.

_I have a promise to keep. _

* * *

After she had learned the skills of a healer, Birte daughter of Barra had seen many an injured man, and treated to many kinds of different wounds. In the Dunlending village and camp there were always small accidents happening and knowing how to take care of them was a basic skill she handled the best as far as a healer's trade went.

In healing, there was calm. There was bringing order to chaos. There was _life. _

But the men carried to receive her attention that night were something else entirely. Their wounds and their agony spoke of a battle more savage than anything she had ever seen before. Indeed, she could hear the noise from outside: the clash of metal, screams and shouting, the war machines tearing and thundering...

Yet in a bizarre way she was thankful for having her hands full of work. Had she been forced to sit back and wait, Birte thought she might have gone mad. At least this way she felt like she had some impact on things.

Outside, the battle raged, and more men were brought, and their moans filled the hall. Many of them were beyond her help, and others already dead when she got to them. The battle raged, but it was so much more than just a battle: the fate not only those in this fortress was being decided, but perhaps that of all Rohan.

And if Rohan fell...

Birte would not think of that. Instead, she went on to the next man and concentrated on the only thing she _could _do.

She could heal, but knew not to what end.

* * *

Every now and then, word came from the walls. Most of the time, it was one and same thing: the men were doing their best. But the looks on the face of messenger – a Knight of the King's household – spoke in volumes.

All depended on Wizard Gandalf now... and on whether the men could defend the fortress until morning.

Past midnight, Éowyn ceased her restless pacing and came to sit beside Lothíriel. Ever since the battle had begun she had looked so anxious, wringing her hands every now and then and sometimes casting thoughtful glances at her sword. She was tempted to go and fight... and who could blame her?

Lothíriel herself had never felt the wish to wield a blade, even if she was sister to warriors. But now it seemed unfair and even insane: why shouldn't they be able to fight tonight? If only she had the strength and the skill! She should be there too, along with Amrothos and Elric... Éowyn very obviously had the same idea.

Her face remained troubled, and the princess picked up her hand. This time, she did not find it in herself to try and claim all would be well.

"Do you think they can last until the dawn?" she asked quietly.

"I have no idea", Éowyn sighed, shaking her head. "The Hornburg is a great and strong fortress, but this army of uruk-hai... I never understood with what force they would come."

Lothíriel nodded and looked down. She too had not comprehended the crushing enormousness of this shadow, not before now. At the face of it holding on to hope was not easy.

"I never thought I'd end up here. I didn't think it would turn out like this", she said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. It was growing larger, especially at the thought of her Gondorian family. She mumbled, "I wish my father was here. I miss him so much..."

Éowyn wrapped an arm about her and Lothíriel leaned her head against that of her sister-in-law. She felt small and weak and helpless, much like a scared child. What would she had given for just one moment with her dear, dear father! But the time of hiding behind her father's back was gone. She was a woman of the Mark now and she ought to be just as brave as Éowyn and Scýne and Lady Léoma.

"I'm sure you'll see him again. Your brothers, too", Éowyn reassured her.

A thought of her brothers made Lothíriel think of Amrothos. Perhaps it had been to console her, but he had gone to battle looking more reassured than many other man in the fortress. She knew he was a capable fighter; though he was not skilled as Elphir or as focused as Erchirion, he seemed to have reckless kind of luck and bravery that always steered him through battles. Somehow Amrothos always knew when to take his chances and when not.

He had come to the Mark, stayed close to her... stubbornly he had returned when they had sent him away, rode against all hope, and allied his force with Éomer's. He had gone to prison and walked out unscathed and undaunted. _Dear, dear Amrothos._

"I wonder how my brother is holding up", Lothíriel said tentatively, glancing at Éowyn. Like she expected, a frown visited that fair face.

"I'm sure he's fine", said the White Lady, her voice colourless.

"Has he done something to offend you?" asked the princess, studying the face of the older woman intently.

"He walks into a battle like it was a child's play", Éowyn said sharply, almost harshly, "with so little care, and so little thought. He's reckless and impulsive and appears to have a feeble grasp on duty. He struts about as if the world belonged to him, and doesn't even see how... how it's so easy to him to travel to faraway kingdoms, and fight for things he doesn't seem to understand, just because he _can_. He is so free and he doesn't even understand it. It's unfair."

With some surprise, Lothíriel realised at last: Éowyn envied Amrothos. Though she couldn't quite tell what was the root of this emotion, she could still recognise it. But it also made her comprehend something else. Though Éowyn might be her family now, and they had known each other for some time, there was still much about Éomer's sister she did not know or understand.

"The way my brother acts is not because he doesn't think of what he does. Even in recklessness he tries to do the right thing. If he goes into battle looking carefree is because he's trying to comfort others. It's always been like that with him. Ever since our Mother died, he... well, he always tried to make it better any way he knew. But it doesn't mean he doesn't care. True, perhaps he doesn't really understand how duties bind our brother Elphir for example, but he didn't come here for adventures either", Lothíriel said gently, wishing for the other woman to see her point of view.

Éowyn made a non-committal sound. It did not seem like she was willing to pursue this conversation, so Lothíriel let it be.

To herself, she wondered what it really meant... and why it was her sister-in-law so envied Amrothos his freedom.

And as she thought back the times of late, she came to a conclusion of sorts. _Perhaps it is not so odd at all... _

* * *

_Ahead, ahead. _

Gandalf the White lead the way. Like a luminous flame in the night, he raced towards West. Behind him came what forces he had been able to gather since his departure from Edoras.

And Firefoot came just after, falling easily into following Shadowfax the great, following towards battle.

_We are enough. If we just get there in time... _

Éomer held on tighter to the reins of his steed, fixing his eyes ahead. It was long way yet and there would be no rest tonight. No such thing could be afforded if they meant to reach Helm's Deep before it was too late. The moon was riding high, painting the plains in pale silver and turning the muster of riders grey and fell. Had anyone seen them now, they must have looked like a troop of ghosts flying over the hills and plains of the Riddermark.

It was yet hours before sunrise. Gandalf had said they could make it... but only if they rode through the night.

He thought of his uncle, alone in the eye of a storm. Oh, he should have been there, and stand beside his King.

_I am coming. I am coming. _

Behind him there was a thunder of hoofs. Sons of Eorl were racing to fight for their lord... and to fight for future. The Mark was on the move.

it was a strange feeling for a time like this, but as he rode Éomer at last felt hope.

_Ahead, ahead, towards dawn. _

* * *

The night was long as a nightmare.

It did not take long for Dreda to lose her sense of time as soon as the battle began and the injured started to arrive. Tending to those wretched men was a task seemingly without an end, for if she finished with one patient another was there to take his place. And not just men but boys as well... and old men who had no business taking part in a battle.

All the while, she feared she might come across Elric's face. Oh, she had betrayed the boy, but she still feared for him. Brave he might be but he was but a boy. He was so young... so like his father. In looks at least, and in the way he did what he thought was right.

_In betraying him I betrayed the last good thing I had in my life. _

Some time after midnight a sense of weariness came to her. The flood of the injured had ceased for a bit and she'd just have liked to lay down her head and sleep. But death could come so quickly in sleep and this might be the last night of her life. She couldn't waste it by dreaming... though dreams were sweeter than reality.

Dreams were where she was still that same old Dreda, the one with hope and a soul.

Her guard had abandoned her long ago. He too had gone to the wall, to fight what she deemed a losing battle. No, she needn't stand on the wall and see the madness and chaos of war to know it: they would lose. And all of them would die here.

Then yet another man was brought in and she took more clean linen, idly wondering if they had torn apart all the linen in the fortress to provide the healers with something to dress the wounds with. Little did it matter now, did it? No one would be needing linen after this night.

And no one would be singing songs of the foolish courage of the Rohirrim.

She spotted her guard after she was done with her current patient. He lay quiet and pale, obviously quite dead. As if on an instinct her hand went to his purse, where she knew the keys were, unless he had lost them in the battle. But there they were and she grabbed at them; they nearly slipped from her blood-stained hands. The other healers were so preoccupied that they had no time to pay any attention to her.

In one quick flick, the shackles fell.

_Well. If we're going to die, I'm not going to let that happen while I sit here and wait._

* * *

After dozing off for a while against Scýne's shoulder, Lothíriel woke up; she hadn't exactly slept but still felt kind of guilty for even trying. This was not a time for anyone to sleep, not when her brother and Elric were out there fighting for their lives.

Restlessly Scýne muttered something of going up to the fortress and see how things were going, and as soon as she had gone Elswite came to claim that place beside the princess. The young woman seemed pale and uneasy, which was no wonder. Her own father and brother were out there fighting as well.

"How do you think this will turn out, Lady Princess?" she asked, and to the princess she sounded a lot like she'd have wanted to be reassured all would be well. But Lothíriel had no idea if that would be so, and she did not want to give any false hope.

"I suppose we can just wait and wish for the best", she said softly and patted the Rohir woman's arm. Elswite nodded, biting her lip. After a moment of silence she spoke again.

"Are you very worried for your brother, lady?" she asked tentatively, but the princess noticed an anxious look in her blue eyes and wondered what it meant.

"I do worry for him. How can one not in a storm like this? But I try to remember he can look after himself. All three of my brothers were trained to be fine warriors", Lothíriel answered. Elswite nodded and looked down on her hands.

She wondered out loud then, "I was just thinking of what you told me of Dol Amroth, my lady. It's so far away in south... how come you both are here in the Mark?"

"Well, I first came to live here as a wife to Lord Éomer. That was almost two years ago now... my brother arrived here late last autumn. Our father sent him here. It is a good thing that he did come, for he has been of great help", Lothíriel explained.

"That is very brave, leaving one's home like that. I may speak of going to stay in Edoras, but truth is I've never travelled further than our capital", Elswite said, gathering her knees against her chest.

"I was terrified at first too. But then I found friends, and my daughter was born. And I fell in love", said the princess softly, thinking of her husband. "I found home here in Rohan, unexpected as that was."

For some reason, that made the auburn-haired woman smile. She sought Lothíriel's face, as if there was some answer to unasked question there on her features.

"My lady, would you tell me more of your brother Prince Amrothos? If just to pass the time?" she asked.

That was the first moment Lothíriel suspected anything.

* * *

When they had first given him the weapons and the fighting gear, Elric son of Éomer had barely noticed any of their weight. Rather, his will to fight and defend what he loved had given him strength. He had felt determined and single-minded.

But the night was long and dreary, and no matter how many arrows he shot, no matter how many uruks he fought, the flood of them just wouldn't end.

All around him, the battle raged. It had risen even to the wall as the enemy had come with their ropes and ladders. These foes were not careless Dunlending men, however: they were enormous, blood-thirsty creatures that fought with murderous fury, and he needed all the skill and stamina his training had provided to just survive.

Elric was not sure he _would _have survived though had Amrothos not been there. Together they fought, guarding each other's back, and joining forces when an enemy too formidable came crawling by a ladder. At first it had brought him curious kind of exhilaration. But as the night went on and the enemy masses did not seem to grow any smaller no matter what they did, it was harder and harder to keep on going.

Now the jokes from before seemed empty and stupid and there were even moments when he thought of running away, to the safety of the fortress. Yet even as these instances of weakness came to him he thought of his family, of Father and Elfhild and Lothíriel and Grandmother Eadmod. He was fighting for them and they counted on him to endure.

Endure, like Father would.

_He will come. He will. Somehow, he will. _

It happened after the wall was breached and Elric had nearly fallen from the wall for the shaking of it. Amrothos indeed had fallen down and was fighting a pair of uruk-hai; Elric was alone on the high wall. The one uruk that came for him looked particularly nasty. It was huge too, almost as tall as Father. Even among these swarming masses of horror this one was a beast.

Afterwards Elric didn't remember much of the actual fight – just his fear and despair as he tried to struggle for his life. He did remember that moment when he lost his footing on the slippery stone, however, and fell down.

One moment, he was sure he'd die.

But that moment passed, for someone came running, flying past him. How that someone had gotten this far he didn't know. Then again Dreda was a sneaky one. There were many things that would have gone otherwise if she wasn't.

The spear had broken but its head remained, and her reckless run towards the uruk was of someone who had no care for her life.

And so it was, even as she buried the spearhead in her opponent's eye, the blade from Isengard cut the string of her life.

The uruk fell. And so did Dreda.

"Dreda!" Elric exclaimed as he fought up on his feet and dashed towards her. He was just able to catch her before she hit the ground.

"Little bear", she mumbled; somehow, she was _smiling. _

"Why did you do that?" he exclaimed, but the stain of red on her stomach was growing larger, and blood flowed from between her fingers she had pressed against the wound.

"Don't look so terrified, Elric. I deserve death after what I did and would have done. This is a far better thing than anything I've done... and I'm enough of a coward to be glad I won't have to face your father again", she said quietly and the light in her eyes was fading.

"You idiot", he growled and tried to lift her up, but he could not – he had not much strength left now.

"Aye. I'm idiot", she mumbled, sighing softly. "And I'm sorry."

"Dreda..." Elric whispered. He realised he didn't want her to die... no matter what she had done.

"It's all right", she said. Eyes half open, she smiled dizzily, "You look so much like your father..."

Dreda sighed. Sighed, and was gone.

* * *

The night had been anxious until the very end, but the chaos in the caves only broke out when the word arrived: the wall had been breached, the enemy was in the Deep, and the fortress was taken.

The princess had been sitting with Scýne and Elswite when the noise from outside rose and the hammering of ram began; in terror Elswite exclaimed and clung to Lothíriel.

"Ladies! You must calm down and make for the mountains! Lady Léoma, do you know the way through these caves?" asked the man sent to oversee the flight.

"I'll see to it", Léoma said briskly. Calm she remained as she yelled orders, trying to create order among the women and children.

But then Elric came running from the fortress. Alive he was, though covered by blood and grime, and about his forehead there was a blood-stained bandage.

"Lothíriel!" he exclaimed, fighting his way through the swarming crowd. She had only just gotten up on her feet with the help of Scýne and Elswite.

"Elric!" she called back and caught the boy in her arms. Tears of relief threatened to break out as she held close her husband's son, this poor lad who had been thrown into a battle of ages and yet he had survived...

_He _is _Éomer's son. _

"We need to go – Amrothos told me to come and get you out of here – hurry up to the mountains-" Elric told her frantically. Somehow, after a night of battle he still had such forceful strength left.

"He's right, we must hurry, get away while we still can", Scýne agreed. She pulled at Lothíriel's arm, as if expecting her to just spring after.

"No, no. I can't run – I wouldn't make it far, even if I tried. I'd only hold you back", Lothíriel argued. Indeed, she could very well feel the weakness still, though it was not the same as before. But it was enough to mean her death.

_She'd not get away. _

"I'm not going to leave you here alone!" Elric said angrily. "Father told me to look after you! And I need to get you out of here for Elfhild!"

"And I'm not going to let yourself get killed because of me!" Lothíriel shot back. "Please, Elric, go with Scýne and Elswite and leave this place!"

And the women were running, holding on their children, and there was great wailing echoing in the caves... somewhere above, the battering ram hit again and again and its sound was that of despair, and Lothíriel was then certain she'd die.

This was the end.

But then, as Elric looked like he was about to argue again, a new noise rose in the fortress. Men and horses... and the horn of Helm Hammerhand, ringing in the Deep and echoing through stone like Béma himself had come to sound this last fell song of war.

"Please, Lothíriel!" Elric tried one more time, pulling at her hand; he had to yell in order to get his voice above the sound of the great horn. It went on blowing, rising again and again, and the very stars above must have been wondering where all this noise came from...

It was that moment when the horn fell quiet, and they took it for a sign of defeat at last... but the sound was replaced by another. Not by something so piercing, but a deep thunder in the very earth.

_Hoofs. Hundreds and hundreds of hoofs. _

The Mark had ridden to the aid of the King.

"_Faeder! Faeder!" _Elric cried out in his own tongue, and tears of relief came, and Lothíriel cried too as they hugged. Scýne was there too, and Elswite and Éowyn, all locked in a tangle of arms. Dawn had come and with it salvation, and somewhere out there the Rohirrim were riding down the armies of Isengard. Lothíriel's tears turned into laughter and her relief turned her knees into water and she couldn't help but sit down to just try and catch her breath.

But as soon as she had, she burst into laughter again, for Elswite and Elric were in the middle of some victorious dance and it looked quite insane, and _they would live, _they would walk out of these caves alive...

It took a while for them all to calm down. By then Hrodgar too had come down into the cave to confirm the news. Indeed, Wizard Gandalf had come, and along with him the Third Marshal and a great force of riders. At the moment, they were finishing off the uruk-hai and it was clear by now the battle was won. He also said Amrothos had received a wound to his leg but it was nothing lethal, and the healers were taking care of him right now.

"Should we go out and see for ourselves?" Scýne suggested. No doubt she was anxious to see her own husband, who had been away so long. Others who had taken refuge where already starting to pour out. Tides had turned and flight had turned into a sudden mirth.

"Of course. Let us get going", said Lothíriel, and the group of them started for that way up into the fortress.

But then...

A sudden shriek almost had Lothíriel thinking some uruks had survived and had come here to get revenge on their defeat, but another voice shouted then; it was a voice of a man.

"Damn it, woman! Do I look like an uruk to you?! Make way!"

The sound of his voice was the music she had awaited for... for an eternity, it seemed.

"Father!" Elric sobbed; the poor boy was a wreck.

And he came then, running to the caves and fresh from the battle the way he looked like. But the sight of them there made his eyes lit up and he exclaimed as he threw aside his sword.

Then with few leaps Éomer was on the front of them. He grabbed them both in a crushing embrace and all three fell on their knees. He was there at last and Lothíriel clung to him as if he might disappear. She only barely heard her own hysterical laugh beyond Elric's sobs of relief. He held them close to himself like he was never going to let go, breathing hard and she realised he was fighting tears. All the pain and despair she had felt at having to let him go and not knowing whether he might return was made up for, and she held on to him and to Elric, these two men of her family.

Insane it was after all the fear and darkness, as she had not thought she'd survive these caves... but he had come and she knew everyone in this fortress owed their life to the arrival of him and his riders.

"My love", she mumbled at last, though speaking was difficult in this tumult of emotions, "you came back."

"Where else would I go than back to you two?" he asked, resting his cheek against her hair. "I promised I would, beloved."

"You did", she agreed, trying to blink away the tears from her eyes. "My dear stubborn man."

He let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob. At last he kissed her and the shadow faded, there was no grief or loss or fear; there was just this, the moment of clarity and light of gold, for Éomer had come back.

* * *

**A/N: **HAHA I DID NOT SLEEP LAST NIGHT. In other words here's another fruit borne by the tree that is lack of sleep. I hope you're happy now.

So, here we see few things settled. For one Éomer has returned at last, and the Battle of Helm's Deep is over. I decided to go for a style where we see glimpses from different characters' point of views, though Lothíriel is most predominant.

And Dreda is now finished. Like I wrote in some previous chapter's author's note, I had some trouble figuring out how her story should end, and in the end I realised it would have to be death. Helm's Deep seemed quite natural place for it to happen. For one, I think she's beyond the point of proper redemption, the kind where she could move forward. I believe she knew that too, and so chose to do something not completely different from what she tried with Wormtongue. Dreda is someone to want to go down with a bang and a flash, and rushing into a battle would seem like the perfect solution to her. Not to mention how she's quite convinced they're going to die anyway. But it's important she does throw herself in between Elric and that uruk. If there is even smallest chance of the battle turning into a victory after all, she'd rather Elric remember something good about her. Like she understands, he was one of the few good things left in her life before she betrayed him. I hope this solution to her story does not disappoint you, my good readers!

Also, there is an answer as to why Éowyn has some troubled feelings towards Amrothos. Like her words hopefully show, she is envious of Amrothos' position and his freedom. She doesn't think he understands or appreciates it at all. Éowyn believes he has just the kind of freedom to do things she'd want to have.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Shango Sanguine** – Thanks for pointing it out!

As to the matter of Hrodgar, I've kept him a bit obscure character, because he is someone who prefers to keep things close to his chest. He doesn't like sharing things about himself, and that reflects on also on how I write about him. I don't know if I could write a separate piece of him, but I promise I'll think about that.

**Borys68 - **I hope I didn't drop any apples at least! :)

**SymphonicPoem - **Seems so, yes. :D Damn these sleepless nights!

**A Light in the Night - **Things do seem to be getting better for her and her family, yes!

**Sandy-wmd - **Glad to hear you think so!

**Talia119 - **I really liked to write about them together. Like she noted herself, it's a bit like talking to a father-in-law. And yes, Théoden is most likely trying to figure out her character, not only for what kind of a queen she would make, but also if he can feel she's "good enough" for his beloved sister-son.

This chapter should answer your question about Éowyn and Amrothos, and also Dreda is now gone too. And there is a reunion!

**1607hannah - **To be honest, I don't really see Dreda as someone with happy ending. She had gotten herself too deep to really get out clean. That's also the driving force of her plunge to death in this chapter.

I'm happy to hear you think so about how I handled Gríma's downfall!

**memory bleeds - **:D I lose sleep writing, you lose sleep reading my stuff. Poor us!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

The brilliance of midday sun flooded inside the hall and absent-mindedly Lothíriel watched the play of light and shadow as people came and went about their chores. Those were many, what with caring for the wounded and the bodies of the dead, and providing food for those who could stomach it.

But the Princess of Dol Amroth and Lady of Aldburg was in a place of calm though it certainly wasn't quiet about her. Resting her head against the shoulder of her husband and half-listening to him as he spoke with Lord Aragorn over their meals, she felt peace. That was something that had been absent ever since... she couldn't even remember. It had to be before she had left Aldburg. The only flaw was that Elfhild was not here, with her parents and brother, but the princess told herself they'd see the little one soon. Though her husband's words merged to one another and her mind wandered, the sound of Éomer's voice was all she needed to feel this calm. Sometimes, he'd glance at her and Elric, as if checking they were still there.

Elric sat on the floor beside her, his bowl of hot soup already empty. He was dozing off with his head against her knee, but every now and then his head would jerk up and he'd look about as if he thought the battle was still raging and he ought to stay alert. She had thought of telling him to go and catch some sleep, but eventually the princess had decided after enduring last night he needed his family more than bed.

Lord Aragorn sat next to Éomer, looking even more ragged after the night than he usually did. His grimy state was quite in contrast to the Elf Legolas beside him; as far as Lothíriel could see, there was not even one speck of dirt on the Elven Prince's clothes or face, nor did he seem at all tired though he too had taken part in the battle. He conversed with Gimli the Dwarf, who was wolfing down his second of third bowl.

Hrodgar was close too, enjoying a break and some well-deserved food after long and laborious night. Scýne had disappeared somewhere with Éothain, and Éowyn was helping Léoma with all the running things while Elswite followed them about looking forlorn and quite uneasy. As for the King, he was deep in discussion with Gandalf. Around the hall there were the knights of the King's household and Éomer's men, and rest of the riders and refugees were scattered about the fortress wherever there was space for rest.

She knew there were already men at work to care for the bodies of the fallen. But Gandalf had advised them not to touch any of the uruks that lay outside the walls, and the King trusted his wisdom. The princess suspected it had something to do with the ominous-looking forest that had appeared as if from nowhere to receive what had been left of the army of Isengard. No uruk ever came out of the shade of those trees.

Lothíriel shivered and instead thought of her brother. Amrothos had yet to make an appearance, as the healers had refused to let him leave their vigilant watch. But evidently he was quite all right, judging by the way his voice had risen couple of times to argue with the healers. If he was able to have a disagreement, he most certainly was going to be fine.

She sighed to herself and closed eyes, wishing she could perhaps have found some empty chamber for herself and Éomer... peel off the armour, and perhaps forget about the world for a while. Well, as soon as he had bathed, that was.

The battle had ended. Though its cost was great, it had secured the safety of the realm... for now, at least. Théoden King was revived, his heir had returned from exile, and Isengard was completely beaten. In this situation it was difficult to believe all would fall into ruin.

She felt his lips on her forehead then and opened her eyes, smiling softly at him.

"You look tired, dear one. Should I escort you to bed?" he asked.

"Don't be silly, my love. You're the one who raced Béma knows from how far and hewed your way through an army of uruk-hai. I just sat in a cave, useless and helpless", she told him.

"Nonsense. If you were helpless or useless you wouldn't be sitting there now", he argued, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. She harrumphed but could not resist a chance of kissing him, and for a moment she forgot of the noise in the hall and people about them. Oh, how she loved him! And how she wanted to never see him gone again...

"My dear heart", he murmured, resting forehead against hers, "I do love you so."

"As I love you", she answered, weaving her fingers with his. The princess looked up at him and he looked like he'd have said something more, but then noise distracted them and they both turned to see what it was.

"I'm quite fine already! Stop fussing, or are you my mother perhaps?" Amrothos ranted at Birte, who was trying to hold him back. He was limping and looking just as filthy as Lord Aragorn, but it was the same old dauntless Amrothos. Birte threw her arms in the air as a sign of defeat and seemed to be muttering to herself as she turned around to return to the wounded.

Lothíriel snorted at the sight and rolled her eyes, but Éomer seemed to find it amusing.

But then Elswite approached Amrothos and the prince fell quiet. His face became serious and the two spoke in voices so low no one else could hear them. The princess frowned, wondering what it really was between her brother and Erkenbrand's daughter... but she was not left in the shadow for long.

Amrothos took off a ring on his finger, picked up Elswite's hand, and slipped the piece of jewellery on one of her fingers. Then he reached for the brooch of his cloak and the dirty garment fell down his arm. As Lothíriel's sat frozen and gaping at him, her brother wrapped his cloak about Elswite's shoulders. The damned villain! Oh, she was so going to murder him!

The Rohirrim had quickly picked up what was happening and as soon as Elswite draped in the prince's cloak, a loud applause rose. Some lifted their mugs of ale and others just burst out laughing. One man bellowed: "Oi, Erkenbrand! Looks like you've got a princess in your family!"

But Lothíriel was not quite so impressed.

"PRINCE AMROTHOS OF DOL AMROTH! _You bloody moron!" _

* * *

"Well, I promised I'd marry her", said Amrothos for what had to be fifth or fourth time.

Like each time he had said this before, Lothíriel let out a groan of frustration. Of course she agreed with the principle of keeping your word, and she'd probably been even angrier with her brother if he just had his way with an unsuspecting young woman and then broke promises he had given her. But that still didn't change what he had done.

Amrothos had gone and wedded a woman of Rohan, someone he couldn't even claim he knew, against all wishes of Lord Denethor and their father the Prince. As she was Erkenbrand's daughter she was nobility, but Lothíriel knew very well what Gondorian courts would think. To them, it would seem that he had married below his station.

"I know! You told me that already!" she wailed and rubbed her temples. "But what reason could you possibly have to make such promises in the first place?"

"Um, I was just kind of distraught before the battle, and she happened to be there, and we... hmm, I don't think I have to tell you what happened then. But in the middle of it I did promise her I'd marry her if I'd get through the night alive, and I'm a man of my word", Amrothos explained sheepishly. She nearly shrieked at his words. Oh, now she certainly did understand Éowyn! He _was _a reckless, impulsive git.

"And you couldn't possibly keep your pants up, brother? She's Lord Erkenbrand's daughter, you idiot!" she yelled.

"The man seemed to take it rather well", argued her brother. "And what was I supposed to do? I thought I was going to die!"

"So you forced yourself on a sheltered young woman who happened to have an eye for you?" Lothíriel snapped. She wanted to throttle him and then perhaps throw him out of window.

"I didn't force myself on her! She contributed most eagerly", Amrothos defended himself.

"Of all the scatterbrained men you are the worst, Amrothos! Oh sweet Elbereth, Father is going to murder me for not keeping you out of trouble!" Lothíriel wailed in despair and finally fell down to sit.

"But maybe he won't, sister", he tried. "After all, he already has Elphir as his heir, and Alphros too, and Aredhel is one of the highest-born ladies in the land if you're not counted. And even if something happened to them, there's still Erchirion and Fainien. But me? I can't be Father's heir, and Erchirion was always the best sailor. I'm the landlubber of the family – except for you of course, O Lady of the horselords. Anyway, I'm just the third son and it's not like I'm as important as our brothers or you."

She considered this for a moment and reluctantly Lothíriel had to agree perhaps he wasn't so wrong about that aspect. Perhaps Father would not be angry for Amrothos choosing Elswite as a companion for life when the continuation of their line was already secured. But even if Prince Imrahil would not be angry, that still didn't change some other problems.

"But even if Father gives his blessing, our uncle is not going to be quite so understanding", she pointed out, "and the fact remains you don't even know Elswite."

"You didn't know your husband either when you first came here, but look at yourself now – you're completely in love with the man", Amrothos reminded her.

"It is true", she allowed, "but that doesn't mean the same will happen to you two. And how do you think she'll be received in the southern courts? Elswite has no idea of what to expect. She's never even travelled beyond Edoras! Those Gondorian vultures will attack her the moment they lay eyes on her and pick her bones clean!"

"Then maybe we'll never go to Gondor again", Amrothos said unaffectedly. "And if we do, Aredhel and Fainien will be there. They'll help her through it."

"So you'll settle here? I can't even promise you livelihood, not without the leave of the King. It's one thing for you to stay in our household as a guest, but with a family of your own... and if you return south, you'll be taking Elswite away from everything she's known. She'll be completely alone. And don't you dare say it turned out fine for me. Just because I was able to adjust doesn't mean it's easy, or that someone else has the luck I have had", Lothíriel said, her anger threatening to rise again. But it did not catch fire anymore, and began to turn into frustrated weariness.

"Don't you like her, then? Is that what this is about?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Amrothos, don't be absurd. She's a nice young woman – far nicer than you deserve, you troll – but there just are so many things about this that could go wrong. Do you even realise that you have made a very permanent choice, and you'll have to live the rest of your life with her? You can't just discard her if you feel bored!" sighed the princess tiredly.

"Of course I know that. And I know this decision was made in haste and that there's much that I need to learn about her, but I don't regret what I did. I'm going to prove your concerns vain", Amrothos reassured her, and she hoped he really meant it this time.

"Fine", she groaned at last, realising this conversation was not really going anywhere. "But just so you know, I'm not going to explain this to Father or Uncle – you can do that yourself. And I'm not going to lend you a hiding place if Lord Erkenbrand comes after you anyway."

"Relax, sister. It's a marriage, not the end of the world", he said cheerfully and patted her shoulder. "Who says only you get to find your spouse from Rohan? I'm sure it'll turn out just fine."

"You're hopeless", she told him, and no more words wore exchanged about the matter that time.

* * *

Laying there on the ground in the middle of two men who had also fallen on the wall, Dreda seemed so peaceful it was almost as if she were just asleep. Though the wound and stain of blood on her front testified of her fate, it was still somehow hard to believe she truly was dead.

Elric had brought them the news after the most urgent emotions of relief and joy for their reunion had passed. He had told how she had dashed to the wall, and thrown herself in between Elric and the uruk who would have taken his life. The men gathering the bodies of the fallen had already salvaged her body from the ruin of war, and there she now lay... Dreda daughter of Deorwine had passed away, and though Lothíriel would have expected to feel relief, the only emotion that came to her was just a kind of cold regret.

As she looked down on that face, so fair in life and even in death, she could not feel any more hate for this woman. No matter what she had done and what her actions had caused, somehow the night of war and blood and death had washed away anger.

_Elric might not live now if not for her. _

Éomer had appeared to have similar thoughts. His face had become dark when his son had brought news of Dreda's death. In his eyes, there had been deep melancholy.

"Once she was my friend. Once I thought she might even be my wife one day", he said at length and then sighed heavily, "and now I find I only feel pity and regret for her."

But then he looked at his son and rested a hand on Elric's shoulder. He continued, quieter this time: "But I'm also grateful. What she did may have robbed us of one child, but this one lives because of her."

"She said she didn't dare face Father again. So she chose another way for herself", Elric mumbled. He looked to be on the verge of tears, and Lothíriel knew how confusing and difficult it must have been for him. Indeed, how should a young boy know what to think when even the adult mind could not choose between forgetting Dreda's crimes and condemning her despite her last desperate attempt to redeem herself?

"It's not perhaps the right way, eluding the King's justice like that. Then again, it was like her to choose to go down like this. And you are alive and unhurt because of what she did... don't be troubled, son. You're not wrong to feel thankful. I am glad that she did save you", Éomer told his son, and the boy hugged his father. Both of them seemed somehow diminished then, and Lothíriel closed her arms about them, wishing to bring them at least some comfort. She had not known Dreda like they had, and she was not in that hard place of having to see an old friend turned villain and redeemed by death.

After a while, Lothíriel took them both by hand, leading them away from this place of regret, and they returned to the fortress. She cast one more look at the face of the woman she had loathed and found the forgiveness she had thought impossible.

And with that, she let go of Dreda, daughter of Deorwine.

* * *

It was late when Éomer returned, and his movements about the small chamber granted for the two of them brought Lothíriel back from half-awakeness she had been drifting in ever since getting to bed. Earlier that day, after couple hours of rest, he had ridden to Isengard along with his King and the company of Gandalf the White. The princess had not been happy to see him go so soon, but the promise of his return later that day had made it bearable.

Still, even as Lady Léoma had suggested some sleep would serve them all well, Lothíriel had not really been able to rest.

At last Éomer was done undressing and came to bed. When he settled there beside her, she turned towards him and he pulled her against himself. Lothíriel let out a sigh of contentment as she relaxed in the warm safety that was her husband's embrace.

"I thought you'd be asleep already", he murmured into her hair.

"I was waiting for you, my love", she answered softly. Now that he was there, she'd no doubt be out in a moment. But before slipping into dreams she lifted her face to kiss him; her lips soon found his in the dark, and relished the familiar feeling. The kiss was long and tender and filled the very bottom of her heart.

"I don't even remember when I've last felt so warm. Must have been before we left Aldburg... when you were home last time", she said softly. She felt sleepy, but this moment was worth staying awake for a bit longer.

"Aye", he agreed. "And I dreamt of you every night, my dear heart..."

"I wish you never had to leave again", Lothíriel whispered and a shiver passed through her body as she thought of it, her side and her heart empty.

"I wish that too", sighed her husband and he held her a bit tighter then. But such was the life of a warrior, and there would always be days she'd have to see him gone.

"But you're here now... how long, I wonder?" she whispered, unable to hide sadness from her voice. Gently he lifted her chin and kissed her again.

"Don't think of it now. Just rest, _déor min", _he prompted and she decided he had the right of it. No, she couldn't grieve when he was there, like she had yearned him to be on so many a night.

"Hold me tight, until I fall asleep", she asked.

"I'll hold you until you wake up", he murmured. That made Lothíriel smile and she sighed; her mind cleared of worries and sorrow and she drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

They left the Hornburg behind at sunrise. Many that had come there to seek shelter did not return with the King's Company, and Birte the healer woman was one of them. When Elric asked her to come along to Edoras, she had smiled and shook her head.

"Lady Léoma has asked me to stay here and help out with the wounded. I have agreed, for I am far more useful here than elsewhere. And really, it feels like I'm even making amends for what Áed and his men did", she had told the boy gently. Then she had hugged him and promised she'd come to visit him in Edoras some time.

The Marshal too had taken his time to thank her for what she had done for his family, and after they had said goodbye the company was ready to leave for Edoras.

Somehow this time, the way felt longer. Reason for that was not unclear to Lothíriel at least: the King had sent word to Aldburg, and by the time they'd get to the capital, Elfhild should be there waiting for them. The prospect of seeing her daughter had her on the edge from the moment she heard the news, as it felt like years since she had last seen their child.

The other thing that made the travel somewhat awkward was the matter of Elswite. Though Lothíriel had told her she did not harbour ill feelings towards her new sister-in-law, the young woman still acted uncomfortable around the princess. The reason for it was not lost to Lothíriel. Her initial reaction upon their hasty marriage had unsettled Elswite, and the princess guessed she was now thinking that would also be how the rest of the family would receive the news. Her own parents had seemed mostly bewildered but accepting – their daughter _had _married far higher than either them could have ever expected – but Lothíriel had a feeling it was because they had not yet had any time to let it sink in... she feared Erkenbrand would indeed come after Amrothos once the full realisation did hit them. But that might not come any time soon, considering Amrothos would stay for now in Rohan... at least until his wounded leg was healed. What would happen then, she had no idea.

She sighed to herself then and fixed her gaze ahead. Refreshingly enough, she was riding Ǽfnung now, and her brother had taken her place in the wagon. Obviously he couldn't ride with is injury. Judging by the sounds of giggling coming from the wagon not too far behind, the newly married couple were not at all dismayed by it.

"That damned oaf", Lothíriel muttered to herself and shook her head.

"My lady looks quite sour", commented Hrodgar as he rode closer to her. Lady Léoma would have had him stay too in the Hornburg, but the man had said he had his duty to the princess.

"Your lady _is _quite sour", she answered, glancing back over her shoulder at the wagon.

"I would not be too worried, Lady Princess. You first came to the Mark to strengthen the ties between our two peoples, correct? Perhaps their marriage will work towards this purpose as well", Hrodgar suggested.

"I dare not be so hopeful", Lothíriel sighed. "It was reckless and wilful and our uncle the Steward will not like it."

"He may as well accept it. Your brother wrapped his cloak about Lady Elswite under the very eyes of the King of Rohan. Eorlingas consider it a lawful and abiding marriage, and would be offended if anyone should deny it", said the old man.

"I know. But my uncle is a proud man, and he will not take it lightly that he was not consulted. Princes of Dol Amroth are the highest-born nobility in the land after the Steward's own House, and it has been our way for a long time that we do not take vows of marriage without the consent of Steward", said the princess. Her grip tightened about the reins as she thought about her uncle. No doubt he'd have a word or two for her too when they next met.

Hrodgar grunted non-committally, and they rode on for a while in silence. After some time, Lothíriel turned to look at the soothsayer again.

"Hrodgar, I have not really thanked you properly for all that you have done for me and my family. You have put down in line your own life, and... I wish I knew there was some way I could show how much I appreciate your aid", she said softly.

An awkward look came to the man's face. Obviously he wasn't quite used to talk like this.

"You took me under your protection when the others would have driven me away as a witch. I deem it merely right that I pay back to my benefactor", he muttered, turning to gaze at horizon.

"But you have already paid all that one could possibly hope for, and more. My daughter is safe because of you. It doesn't seem to me you should still stay with us, if you don't want to. You have proven yourself to me", she told him softly. He harrumphed.

"The agreement was that I remain for a year and a day, no?" Hrodgar said.

"It was", she allowed. The princess gave him a small smile, but could not hide a hint of sadness from it, "but there are moments I wish I had ordered you to stay for a hundred years."

He seemed taken aback by her words. For all his dry humour and wit, the soothsayer did not seem to be able to come up with any answer. He mumbled something nonsensical and looked away in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry", Lothíriel said quickly after noticing his discomfort. "Was I too straightforward? I didn't mean to cause you unease."

"It is all right, my lady", he grumbled at last. "As far as I know, there is no such thing as 'too straightforward' in the Mark."

She laughed at his words, hoping they were a sign she had not offended him somehow. They rode forth in silence that felt companionable to her; perhaps her words had not damaged anything.

But frustrating as it was to travel, at last she could see Edoras, standing golden and proud on the hill. The sight and the knowledge that Elfhild may already be waiting for them made Lothíriel want to urge Ǽfnung forward, to race past even the King and her husband, who travelled by Théoden's side. Hrodgar noticed her uneasiness and tried to mutter some words of comfort, but she barely heard him.

The ride up to Meduseld had never been quite as long and excruciating as it was that day, but at last they reached the courtyard, and there she spotted Ceola; in the young woman's arms was Elfhild. Though the child's hair was dyed dark, the princess knew her right away, for she was her child.

Lothíriel practically flew from the saddle. With speed she hadn't known she possessed she dashed towards her daughter, and Elfhild's eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Nana! Nana!" exclaimed the little girl as she extended arms towards her mother.

And then she was there at last, and she held Elfhild tight to herself, never wanting to let go of her. She murmured half-coherent words of love and joy as covered the child's face in kisses. Oh, how she had grown!

Then Éomer came and he closed the both of them in his embrace and Elfhild laughed in delight. What wonder it must have been for her, having both of her parents returned to her all of a sudden. Having the little one in her arms, Lothíriel felt the same as she had felt back in the caves of the Hornburg when Éomer had returned and found her and Elric there, and she thought she might start to cry or laugh any moment now.

The boy came to them as well, smiling at his little sister, and Elfhild's eyes sparkled with elation as she saw him. Finally, after the nightmare that had begun to unfold since Lothíriel and Elric had left Aldburg, they were again together. And her heart was so full of joy and light that she wanted to sing or perhaps just burst into tears.

She was awakened from this bliss by the approach of Théoden King. The look on his face was bittersweet as he gazed at the four of them. His eyes lingered on Elfhild for a moment and the girl answered the look solemnly. Then the King turned towards his sister-son and it seemed to Lothíriel some silent conversation took place there... the two did not say anything out loud, but their eyes spoke in volumes. A smile came to the King's face and he nodded at them, and as he began to make way for the steps to Meduseld, Éomer followed him. Resting hand on Lothíriel's back, three of them followed the Lord of the Mark... but Elric fell behind, sensing this was something he could not participate in.

As soon as they were up on the stone terrace, Lothíriel looked behind, and was slightly surprised to see the crowd that had gathered there. Where had all these people come from? But then, she had been very occupied by the reunion with her daughter. Most of Edoras had been emptied when the King had ridden for Helm's Deep, but most refugees had come back as soon as yesterday, and others had arrived too from other parts of the Mark – both to seek shelter and to hear just what was afoot in the kingdom.

"Good people of Edoras", called Théoden in strong voice and the soft murmur of crowd died, "you already know of the victory in Helm's Deep. The armies of Isengard have been destroyed and the wizard Saruman is no longer a threat to our land and people. This we do not only owe to my sister-son Marshal Éomer, but also to Gandalf the White, whose name shall always be blessed in this realm!"

Cheer rose in the crowd, but Théoden lifted his hand. He continued: "In madness I sent away the beloved son of my sister, but as you can see he has come back and stands here today beside me. Wrongly he was accused of traitor's spirit, as was his wife Princess Lothíriel. These accusations are not true, for never was there a truer heart than that of my sister-son. Hereby I return him all the honour and rights that belong to him by birth. Moreover, from this day forward, let it be known that Éomer son of Éomund is my heir and a worthy scion of the line of Eorl!"

"Hail Théoden King! Hail the Lords of Eorlingas!" cheered the crowd, and Théoden lay a hand on the shoulder of his nephew. Quietly they spoke, their voices drowned by the shouts of the people of Edoras.

_The King and his heir..._

That moment, as she watched Théoden and Éomer, Lothíriel felt the touch of hands of fate.

* * *

After their arrival Théoden King gathered his counsel behind closed doors, consisting of men like his sister-son and Marshals, Gandalf, Lord Aragorn, Master Métodlac and so on. As for the princess, she spent most of the day with her daughter and Elric, with Hrodgar at the corner darning some shirt of his. Elfhild was apparently reluctant to be put down from her lap, and Lothíriel was equally unwilling to let go of the child.

There had not really been a proper time to talk in detail with Hrodgar of happenings of late, so much of the afternoon was consisted in exchanging stories of what had happened since the princess had left Aldburg. Though she already knew of what Hrodgar had done for Elfhild, his story still brought Lothíriel a great feeling of thankfulness but also fondness. It was a bit intimidating to understand just how much he had helped them... and how the little girl in her arms owed her life to his loyalty.

When Elric went off to find some food, she finally asked the question that had been in her mind for some time now.

"Hrodgar, why do you do any of this? Why did you endanger your life just for the sake of my child? Why do you help me so unselfishly?" she asked, searching the old man's face. Though she knew he did not like speaking of himself, she needed an answer to this question.

He remained silent for a while, eyes fixed on the shirt he was working on. When he spoke at all, his voice was very quiet.

"I never had much family to speak of. My mother died when I was very young, and neither did my father live to old age. I was practically raised by unwilling relatives who couldn't stand having a useless cripple as a ward. Yes, it was just as horrible as you think", he said slowly, still not lifting his eyes. "But you do have a family, Princess. I'd like you to keep it."

"Why?" she asked as gently as she was able.

"Because of the kindness you show me and trust you place in me. It is not something a man like myself often encounters. You have been well-loved and cared for all your life, so you do not understand how a simple gentle word can mean the world", Hrodgar said. His voice was even more quiet now, as if it was difficult for him to speak these words. Probably it was so.

Nevertheless it brought tears into her eyes, and she almost went to hug him then had she not decided he'd probably not welcome a touch like that.

"I'm glad that you tell me this", she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "And I promise you will always have a place in my household, if you want it. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of us. And my children will know what you have done for me and for them."

Hrodgar looked at her and at first she thought it was a trick of light... but then she looked again, and she knew for sure that the glistening in his eyes were tears he would not let fall.

* * *

Meduseld was full of light and laughter.

A strange contrast it was, remembering all the times she had spent here before. The gloom and the darkness were gone... instead, there was brief abandon. It was needed, she thought. After all happenings of late it felt good to laugh a little.

Théoden King had known that as well, and even before riding to Edoras he had sent orders to prepare a feast to honour those who had fallen in Helm's Deep. Such was the way of the Rohirrim: they remembered their dead with love and laughter. Two fiddlers were playing a lively tune, so different from the colourless songs Lothíriel remembered from the official court gatherings in Dol Amroth. Two young women of the household had even become inspired enough to dance to the music, leaping in complex patterns as their audience clapped a rhythm to go along the music. And drinking horns and tankards were lifted with noise to honour fallen comrades, their names and deeds repeated as in poems.

Originally, Lothíriel had meant to stay with Elfhild, but Scýne and Hrodgar had insisted she came to the feast at least for a little while, and she was certainly now happy that she had come. Seeing this feast and being part of it made her feel more like one of these people than many things had before.

Before taking Elfhild to bed – the little one would sleep in Éowyn's chamber for the night – she sat for a while with the King. Théoden seemed more than glad to have his grandniece sit on his knee, and though the little one couldn't really remember much of this man, she seemed to instantly take liking to him. Indeed, the man and the child were quite entertained by each other, which left Lothíriel time to observe them and the feast around them. There was light in Théoden's eyes as he played with Elfhild and tickled her, and the girl's laughter brought a look of happiness to his face. Eventually she fell asleep there, head against Théoden's chest, and the princess went to pick her up. Carefully, the King lifted Elfhild into her arms. He gave her a solemn look.

"She is truly a charming child, my lady", he said softly. "And only now do I really understand what blessing it was that you came to Rohan. You have brought a great happiness to this House."

"I have tried to do my part, my King", she said, smiling as she spoke, "but I'm not the only one to be thanked for this. It is your nephew's doing as well, for being a man that I can love, and being a good father to his children."

Théoden wiped a hand across his eyes and gave her brilliant smile. She bowed her head at him, and how she wished... this man deserved to see more of their children. He should see them crowding about him, and loving him like they would love a grandfather. Perhaps such thing could yet come to pass.

After putting Elfhild to bed and leaving Hrodgar to keep an eye on her – he wasn't one for large feasts – she returned to the hall. One of the more amusing instances was observing her husband hosting a drinking game to none other than Legolas and Gimli, but whereas the Dwarf gradually fell into drunkenness, the ale barely had an effect on the Elf. When the Prince of the Woodland Realm worriedly reported he was feeling curious tingling in his fingers, she had to hide her face in Éomer's shoulder in order not to burst out laughing.

Scýne came then and they went to see the singing of Halflings; the red-haired woman offered her a mug of ale, which she accepted though she still wasn't quite used to Rohirric brew. She also spotted a mug of ale in Elric's hand, but before she could get to the boy he had already downed it in one mighty gulp. He had the grace to look embarrassed though, and it wasn't long after the princess had to escort the stumbling boy into bed. Upon her return she took note someone would probably have to escort Amrothos too, considering the pace he was downing drinks.

When Scýne went along to find her husband, Lothíriel sat down for a while at one table, just to watch the feasting and rest her legs for a moment. A sense of bittersweetness came to her as she studied her surroundings... as if was something she might never see again. This was something she might have known before, if not for Gríma Wormtongue. But then, sorrowing for things past was not going to change anything, and she was happy to see at least this one night, even if the world was bound to end tomorrow.

She felt a presence behind herself then, and she looked around; Éomer stood there and seeing she had noticed her he came to stand behind her. He was looking quite dashing if she might say so.

"Hello, handsome", she said and smiled up at her husband. He answered the smile and lay a hand on her shoulder; she twined her fingers with his.

"Fair lady", Éomer greeted and leant down to kiss the top of her head.

"Enjoying yourself, beloved?" she asked.

"Actually I am. It's been a long time Meduseld has seen something like this", he said. "And yourself?"

"It's more like I envisioned this place when I first came to Rohan", she answered. "And I must say I like it."

He smiled at that and looked happy, more so than he had in a while. Lothíriel decided she'd rather see that expression on his face more often.

"I'm glad to hear that, beloved. This is the Rohan I always wanted to show you... not the gloom and scheming snakes", he said softly.

"I see it now", she said gently caressing the back of his hand, "and perhaps we will see it more often in the future."

The unspoken was there on his face: the battle for Middle-earth had not yet ended, and the future of Men still hung on a balance. But on a night like this one ought to hope.

She smiled at him then, "I was thinking of going to bed. And... I was wondering whether you'd like to come too."

Éomer looked sharply at her and she ran her hand up his forearm, giving him a slow smile. It seemed to have an instant effect on him, for his eyes assumed an intense look that sent butterflies fluttering madly in her belly.

"Of course", he managed and without further word they sneaked out of the hall.

As soon as the bedchamber door was closed behind them he pulled her to him, and his kiss was impatient and eager. It seemed like such a long time since they had last lain together, and now Lothíriel found she quite needed him. She needed him and the closeness and feeling like instead of two there was just one of them. But though it was kind of chaotic and wild up until the point he lowered her on the bed, there suddenly care appeared in his touches. Quickly she understood why that was: he feared she was still not completely recovered from the nightmare that had been her captivity among the Dunlendings.

But she smiled at him, and held him close, urging him to go on... and he kissed her like it was the last night of their lives. She knew that she loved him, this man with warrior's hands and a king's heart, but now she felt it so powerfully it nearly made her cry. And no matter what tomorrow would bring and what hardships there were ahead, they were together now, there was _this, _and even if all would go crashing down this was a moment no one could ever take away from them.

Afterwards, when she was safely nestled against him and the most urgent passions had been satisfied, he spoke again.

"Lothíriel?" he asked softly.

"Yes, dearest?" she asked back, running her fingers over his chest absent-mindedly.

"How are you feeling as of late? Are you... is there anything you'd want me to do?" he asked. She knew what he meant; it was just another way he worried for her recovery. It touched her, knowing he cared so deeply.

"I'm... I wish I could say I'm getting better. The battle and everything that happened in Helm's Deep have kind of distracted me, but there are moments when I just..." she murmured, unable to finish the sentence. Lothíriel closed her eyes and a shiver went through her.

"I know", he sighed. It was his grief as well, after all. "I keep wondering whether it would have been a boy or a girl, what he would have been like, and if... if there was some way I could have prevented it."

"You told me not to blame myself, my dear", she told him, firmly though not ungently. "I'm now telling the same to you. It was beyond your power. And the guilty have already had their punishments."

He made a soft sound, as in a reluctant agreement. She snuggled closer to him, if that was possible, and placed her head against his shoulder.

"I did not have yet an opportunity to ask what you thought of our arrival here in Edoras. Or, more specifically, what happened just after it", Éomer said after a while, his voice slightly doubtful.

She thought of his question for a moment, worrying her lip as she recalled what had taken place on the stone terrace of Meduseld.

"It was... well, I knew something like that would probably happen if things were put right and you'd return. You're the King's nephew, after all. It terrifies me, to be honest. If you're one day to be the King..." she answered at length, but towards the end of her sentence her voice trailed off.

"You'll be the Queen", he finished her thought. "Don't worry, beloved. You've managed just fine as the Lady of Aldburg. I do not doubt you will do just as well as the Queen."

"Hmm. Let us hope so", Lothíriel murmured. She looked up at him thoughtfully. "Éomer, the future King of the Mark. I didn't expect that."

"Neither did I. Théodred did, though. A while ago now when I was visiting here he came to speak with me, and he insisted I'd take up his place if he died", he said quietly and held her a bit tighter. "Turns out Ethelgifu was right, after all."

"But that is only if we survive beyond this war", she pointed out.

"Aye", Éomer agreed, and she could hear the doubt in his voice. But a kiss smoothed away any uneasiness, and when she settled back beside him, his form was relaxed again.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again: "Uncle wants me to stay here in Edoras for good."

"And leave Aldburg?" she asked, trembling despite herself.

"Yes. If I'm to be the King after him... well, I ought to be here and learn from him. I was not born for it, like Théodred", he said quietly.

"In that case, we'll come to stay here too", said the princess, though not without sadness.

"I agree. I would not want our children grow without their father, and... it would be quite lonely without you, _déor min", _he said slowly. "You don't want to leave Aldburg?"

"No. It's our home, after all. And everyone we know is there, Scýne and Bierwén and Eadmod and Oferlof and others... I suppose I've grown attached to your house", she admitted. "And Edoras is... well, Meduseld is a beautiful place, but there's some really heavy memories here, whereas Aldburg has all the light ones. We lived there together, after all, and our daughter was born there. And that's where I grew to love you."

"I know", Éomer said gently. "But I promise we'll have new memories here. And Grandmother and Scýne should be willing to come here too. I don't think Éothain's wife would want to be parted from him, considering he's going to stay here as well, since he's my captain."

"Hmm. And the most important thing anyway is that we're together", Lothíriel said softly.

"Aye", he murmured and gently lifted her face so that he could look at her. The expression in his eyes was tender and warm, and the deep affection in them made her believe, if only for a moment, that all things would turn out fine. He murmured, "I love you, my dear Princess. And I consider myself a very lucky man to have you beside me."

His words made her smile and she leaned closer to give him a kiss.

"I love you too. As angry as I was with my uncle when he promised my hand in marriage to you, now I am thankful. I see I needed you to enter my life", she told him, her voice soft and gentle.

He smiled too and kissed her, tender and long. When it ended, he pulled covers over them and she settled down in the crook of his arm. It must have been late already, and even the sounds of celebration in the Hall had almost died. Resting her head on his chest, she listened to the steady beat of his heart, and there in the warm security of his embrace she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a new chapter! After events of late it seemed to me like a bit of sweet things were in order. I continue with the movie canon, as there was no feast in the book.

So, that's what was up with Amrothos and Elswite! I've been sniggering here into my beard ever since Elswite first entered the stage. I know this is quite unexpected, but I wanted it to be as much a surprise for the reader as it is for Lothíriel. Considering how long Amrothos has been in Rohan at this point it's a wonder he hasn't done anything like this before! And anyway, I've always kind of wanted to see one of Lothíriel's brothers finding a companion for life from Rohan. Members of their line certainly seem to have a thing for the Rohirrim! Anyway, what this will mean should be revealed some time soon, and perhaps we'll see more of interaction between Lothíriel and Elswite.

Also we see a bit of bonding, between not only Théoden and Elfhild (who is again safely with her parents), but also Hrodgar and Lothíriel. Hopefully the conversations between them gives a bit more insight to his character and what kind of road he has travelled since we first saw him. I don't think he has really understood before now what kind of place he has come to, and how he has grown attached to the family of the Third Marshal.

Thank you very much for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**distaff . exile **- Yes, I thought so too. There was no real happy ending for her, which she knew too, and so she chose to finish it on her own terms. I'm glad to hear you liked both the conclusion of her story and the structure of the chapter!

**Kiiimberly - **Well, Éowyn thinks Amrothos is irresponsible and reckless. I suppose this chapter proves she's not entirely wrong, though her emotions are intensified by her feelings of envy and being trapped.

**A Light in the Night - **It was really the only way she could have anything resembling redemption. It's important to note that she didn't do it all for Elric, though. It was also partly a selfish choice because she didn't want to face the consequences of her actions. But on the other hand she couldn't have done it for anyone else than Elric.

**GabrielaTJ -** Thanks! Your compliments warm my heart. :)

**Lady Bluejay- **Thank you! I'm glad you think so.

**Sandy-wmd - **It did seem necessary to end the chapter on a more positive note and with a reunion, especially after all the time they had been apart.

**1607hannah **- Happy to hear that! I'm always overjoyed when people tell me I've made them emotional with my writing. :) And yes, all the smoochy times!

**Talia119 - **Here's a little bit more of Hrodgar in this chapter, hope you like it! The reason we didn't see much of him in the last chapter was because there wasn't really that much going on with him. He did his job of looking after the injured and that was about it. As for the other healers, I don't think they really had time to wonder if he was deserving of acceptance or not. They don't know him too well anyway, so the only thing mattered was that he could dress a wound.

I admit I was actually thinking of killing Amrothos. I even tried to write it but the stubborn bugger pretty much wrote himself back into the story, and not only because of Elswite. I really have to practice killing off characters!

**Borys68 - **Good to hear that!

**Shango Sanguine - **Thanks for the compliment! I too rather like this chapter, more than some others.

Also it's nice to know others think so too about Éowyn and Amrothos. I've been thinking of their relationship and to me it made most sense that she'd not be his biggest fan, not at least at this point of her life.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

There was noise in royal chambers they had not heard since the death of Thengel King, Théoden's father. By that time his wife Elfhild had already been dead for two years, and he had still been grieving; he had not been a homemaker, and the chief thing he had brought into these rooms was quiet and regret.

But now there were voices talking and laughing and clatter of dishes as his family broke their fast. Fondly, Théoden watched his sister-son conversing with Éowyn and Lady Lothíriel keeping an eye on Elfhild, lest the little one spooned her porridge into other places than her mouth. Elric chattered away cheerfully, and the princess commented every now and then on something he had said. Sometimes, Éomer would turn to look at them, and he'd smile to himself; it touched Théoden to see his nephew looking so happy.

Éowyn watched them too, but her expression did not speak of the kind of fondness Théoden felt. Instead, he saw something sad there on her brow... and something lonely. And how could he blame her? She'd have deserved happiness as well, but all of it seemed to have fallen on her brother.

Théoden was awakened from these thoughts when there was a knock on the door, and a guard said the mistress of kitchens had some business with Lady Éowyn. She excused herself and the Princess went along as well; Éowyn had already started to familiarise her with running the royal household. Briefly Théoden wondered what would be Éowyn's fate when the day came that Éomer became the King... after all, there could be just one Lady of Meduseld.

Elric went along as well, evidently to see if Gimli the Dwarf would be willing to give him some lessons with axe. That left Théoden with his sister-son and Elfhild. Carefully Éomer lifted his little daughter in his lap as she had already finished her breakfast. Seeing him there smiling at his daughter made Théoden remember another man, not looking entirely different as he supported his first-born child on his knee... almost 30 years before this day.

Éomund had been just as proud of his son, and loved his family just as fiercely.

"What is it, Uncle?" asked Éomer, having noticed there was something on the King's mind.

"Just remembering. Sometimes you remind me so much of your father", Théoden said gently, and feeling of bittersweetness washed over him. There were times when it was hard to believe Éomund and Théodwyn had been gone for over 15 years.

The mention of his father turned Éomer's expression sober. He too missed the man, perhaps now more than ever. The prospect of kingship was a burden to him, even if he was bent on fulfilling his duty to the Mark.

"I wish he could have lived", said the Marshal quietly, looking down at his daughter. Elfhild had noticed the change in tones and was watching her father solemnly.

"Faer", she said; she had yet to learn to pronounce the word properly. Nevertheless, it brought a sad little smile on his face.

"Aye. I wish that too", Théoden agreed softly. "I knew him, sister-son. He was like a brother I never had. And I know he'd be proud of you – just as I am. I rest easier seeing all this life around you, knowing the future of our line is secured."

"For now, at least", said Éomer, watching the little girl in his lap with melancholy eyes. "I look at them and know how easily they could be taken away – or how easily they could lose their own parents. Just like Father... and Mother."

"I don't think your fate is same as your father's. And nor is your wife fragile the way Théodwyn was. Seeing the two of you I know you must survive. You _will _survive and you will see many a blessed day beyond these troubled times", Théoden said gently.

"You speak like you don't expect to see them yourself, Uncle", said his nephew, frowning as he spoke.

"Sister-son, I am already blessed for living to see a day when you are smiling again, and you are loved, and there are voices of children echoing in these halls", Théoden told him and offered his heir a fond smile. "I merely wish your sister might have her share of happiness. I worry for her sometimes..."

"I do too", Éomer said softly. He looked at his daughter again, as if Elfhild's face held an answer to all questions. He continued, "She has spirit and fire for so much more than just tending to the family of her brother. I wish I knew how to help her."

"Perhaps the help has already revealed itself, even if we haven't yet recognised it", Théoden said thoughtfully. He smiled, half to himself, and murmured, "Even night must end eventually."

His sister-son nodded quietly. He remained silent for a while, lost in his thoughts. But then a more practical look came to his face.

"Speaking of my family, I was thinking... my old chamber is getting kind of small. Well, it always was small. But with Lothíriel and Elfhild around..." he said tentatively; the poor young man was still hesitant to ask things of his uncle, as if the shadow of Wormtongue still loomed over them. Théoden smiled, however.

"Of course. You should be found better lodgings anyway, as you're my heir now. If you're going to stay here with your family, you should definitely have more comfortable chambers", he agreed and thought of what available space there was in the household. Elfhild could probably settle in the royal nursery, which had been empty for decades. But where to place the heir to the throne and his wife the Princess?

The obvious came to his mind then, but momentarily Théoden hesitated. _He has barely been laid to the grave... _

But then, Théodred would not mind it. In fact, he'd probably insist on it.

"You could claim the Prince's chambers", he said softly. Éomer looked sharply up at that, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Really? Isn't it... I mean, wouldn't it be painful for you?" he asked, searching the face of his uncle. Théoden sighed.

"It will be painful until the day I die, my dear sister-son. Perhaps you understand, considering what happened to your wife... the worst pain is burying a child, and I would not wish that agony even to my worst enemies", he said slowly; it was hard to manage that cold stab that always came when he thought of his son. "But Éomer, we desperately need to move on. We need healing and life. Moving your family to Théodred's chambers is not going to tarnish his memory, not when he'd himself be happy to see that we continue our lives. If a shrine to his memory is to be build, then it should be in our hearts, not in any chamber of Meduseld. That is not how Eorlingas remember their dead."

The younger man looked more or less convinced then. He nodded solemnly and said no more. But later that day Éowyn asked Théoden to see if there was anything he wanted from Théodred's chamber before the women began the work of preparing it for new inhabitants. Painful it was, like he had told his sister-son, seeing the room that had been Théodred's... his son had left the chamber tidy for his return, but no one had been here since he had fallen, and over the furniture there was a faint cover of dust.

Yes, it did hurt, but even more Théoden knew this phantom ought to be driven away. Life was what these halls needed, especially after the gloom and foreboding that had ruled here with Wormtongue.

Ever so gently, he picked up a ring from the table by the neatly made bed, and he recognised it right away: Elfhild had asked him to give it to their son. He had fulfilled that request on their son's sixteenth birthday – an eternity ago now, it seemed to him. Why it had not been in Théodred's hand when had ridden for the Fords of Isen, the King wasn't sure... unless his son had somehow known he was riding for his fate, and had left the ring here on purpose. The piece of jewellery had been a prized possession of Théodred, and one he had meant to give to his own wife.

But that time had never come.

Théoden closed the ring inside his fist and cast down his eyes, fighting back the sorrow that would tear him apart. Regret and grief and longing for the face of his son pierced his heart once again. _Oh, my son... _

He sighed and cast about on more look. The room would be aired, the hangings and linens changed... new objects would be brought here, and new life. The sound of little Elfhild's laughter would turn the night into dawn. And perhaps... perhaps in this room would be born an heir for the Mark.

"You may rest peacefully, Théodred, for your burden is now on the shoulders of your cousin. Perhaps mine will be his soon, too..."

_Perhaps it is not so long now that I'll see you again. _

* * *

Lothíriel did not feel too comfortable about the prospect of moving to Prince Théodred's chambers. Though she certainly understood the practicality of it and appreciated the promise of more space, it somehow didn't feel right to claim those rooms that had been Théodred's. It was like invading some space one should have left untouched.

But Théoden King had suggested it, and if _he _approved of it, then it seemed like they could not really refuse. She had voiced out her doubt, but he had gently picked up her hand and given her a sad little smile.

"Meduseld is the house of living and of sun, not of the dead and night", he told her in a soft voice. There was little she could say against that, and so by afternoon a troop of women was working to turn the room into a dwelling of those who were alive. As Théodred had divided his time between Edoras and the Hornburg, there was not really so much left of his belongings here: just some clothes, couple of old and worn books, and other small every day objects like that.

"It still feels wrong, as if he was going to return any moment", Lothíriel said quietly to Éowyn.

"I know", answered her sister-in-law. She offered the princess a sympathetic look. "It'll start to feel like home, sooner or later. All it needs is new memories."

"It's not just that", Lothíriel said, lowering her voice. She hesitated before speaking, but then decided Éowyn deserved the truth. "Prince Théodred was... well, he was regretful that it was your brother who wed me."

That was an implication clear enough for Éowyn, but the older woman didn't really seem too surprised. She just nodded.

"Aye. That he was", she agreed softly.

"How did you know?" asked the princess. She felt some surprise that her sister-in-law already knew this, though she had never spoken of it and was certain Théodred hadn't either. Then again, perhaps it wasn't such a wonder. There was usually more going on with the White Lady than she gave on.

A faint smile appeared on Éowyn's face. It wasn't really happy kind of smile, but then again none of her expressions really were so these days.

"Because I know my family, and I knew him. When you have been among the people of this House as long as I have, you learn to read them... and you understand that hiding their emotions is not their greatest strength", she said quietly. "I never commented on it, though. It was obvious he was trying not to show it."

"I'm sorry for what happened to him", Lothíriel said quietly, looking down. "Perhaps Éomer could have gone to help him, if we weren't-"

"That's nonsense. The wizard Saruman is the one at fault, no one else. I heard of what happened from Marshal Elfhelm and he assured not even Éomer could have helped Théodred, sad as it is", Éowyn said briskly. She patted the princess' shoulder, "You have to stop blaming yourself for these things. Wizards and snakes and shadow in the east... it's all larger and more terrible than any mortal man."

"You're right, of course", said the younger woman softly. "It's just not so easy to come in terms with what happened."

"Of course", Éowyn said, her tone turning gentler. She looked like she'd have said something more, but suddenly there was noise from outside... a noise to to fill all their hearts with a sense of apprehension.

"_The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit!" _

* * *

From the fateful announcement things rolled forward on their own weight. The air in Meduseld was electrified, and the tension was rippling to each corner of the Mark. War, far greater than things that had taken place in Helm's Deep, was about to begin.

Éomer was buckling his vambraces when Hrodgar appeared at the door. The old man's face was unmoving but his black eyes were bright and sharp.

"You wanted to speak with me, Lord Marshal", said the soothsayer quietly.

"Aye. That I did", Éomer answered, studying the face of this strange man that had somehow become a part of his world. He had not expected such a thing but happenings of late had convinced him it was not bad.

After a moment of silence he continued, "You have stayed with us for a while now, but we have not really spoken properly... aside from the threats I made to you when I thought you might wish harm on my family."

Hrodgar lifted his eyebrows but said nothing, and the Marshal went on, "I see now I have judged you wrongly before, and I stand corrected. I am thankful for everything you have done for my family."

"I do what I must", Hrodgar said simply, his voice and eyes betraying no emotion or thought.

"Indeed?" asked Éomer with a faint lift of his eyebrows. "Still, my wife trusts you. Perhaps she somehow knew all along that you would not abuse that trust. Is it safe to believe you will not do so in the future either?"

"Quite safe, my lord", said the soothsayer quietly. "Truth is I would not want to return to the life I had before. Turns out I have grown accustomed to people... or just your wife and children, Marshal."

"You regard them your family too", realised the younger man with some surprise.

"The closest thing I can ever have, yes", Hrodgar admitted, looking away.

"I see", Éomer said, his voice softer this time. He took his sword then and put it on its place by his side. He considered the man before him for a moment more before speaking again, "I am going to leave them in your care, Hrodgar. I hope you guard them as well as you have so far."

He sighed then and closed his hand around the hilt of Gúthwinë. There was something comforting about the feel of the weapon, as if it somehow made him invincible. But that wasn't true, of course.

"I haven't spoken of it with my wife yet", he murmured, frowning as he spoke, "but I know it is uncertain what should happen once we ride for Gondor. I have no idea if I will survive. Therefore, in case I should not come back alive, I ask you to look after my wife and children. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course", Hrodgar said quietly, bowing his head. But when he looked up, it seemed to Éomer there was a smile on the man's bearded face. He said, "I do think you will return, my lord. I have no foresight but I don't believe it was coincidence that your cousin died. He had to make way for _you. _Of Eorl's line none is more like him than you are, son of Éomund._"_

At that the Marshal sighed.

"You shouldn't speak like that, Hrodgar", he said resignedly.

"Hrm", was all the soothsayer said. He nodded at the Marshal, "Good luck, my lord."

"Thank you. I have a feeling all of us will be needing it."

* * *

Amrothos was humming half-audibly to himself as he packed his saddlebag, stuffing things in with no consideration for anything that even vaguely resembled order. He didn't seem too worried about what was happening in Edoras – in fact, the whole prospect of war did not dampen his mood.

"Well. I'm surprised to find you without your lady wife", Lothíriel commented, leaning against the doorframe. Really, past two days it had seemed to her that Amrothos and Elswite had grown attached from the hip and paid no attention to other things than themselves. Most of the time, they were giggling at something like teenagers.

"I asked her to go and see if my saddle was ready. I had to get some buckles fixed, if I mean to get to Gondor without the saddle falling apart under me", he said cheerfully.

"So you'll ride for war too? Is that wise, what with your injured leg?" Lothíriel asked doubtfully. She realised it wasn't pleasant to think of him gone no matter what he had done as of late. After all, Amrothos had been around ever since last winter and his high spirits had helped to keep on going.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Master Cyneric said it's healing just fine and it shouldn't cause me any trouble", he answered, waving his hand nonchalantly. She frowned.

"What of your newly wedded wife?" she asked. That at last made his carefree countenance falter.

"Of course I'm not happy to leave her behind. But this war... it's not something man can just turn from. I can fight, better than most if I may say so. And more than I don't want to leave Elswite I hate the idea of our homes burning. I'd like to make her safe. Have a place to return to, you see. And, if I can, try to help to create a world where she could be free instead of being locked up in stone fortresses, and where my own children could grow up without fear", he said slowly. It was kind of surprising to hear him talk like that; with Amrothos, it was easy to forget that not all of his personality was light-hearted and without care.

Without a word she went over to him and wrapped her arms about her brother. He returned the embrace.

"It's all right, sister. I can take care of myself", he reassured her.

"I know that, Amrothos", she mumbled and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry for how I screamed at you back in the Hornburg. I just thought you were acting irresponsibly."

"You don't have to apologise for that. You're probably right about the most things you said... it's true, Uncle won't be happy with me when he hears. And it's going to take some work to figure out everything. I don't suppose the King had any Marshal's positions open? But I'm sure everything will turn out fine", he said and smiled again. Lothíriel snorted.

"It probably will, knowing you. No matter what insane things you do, brother, you always land on your feet", she said. Amrothos grinned.

"That's very true", he agreed, patting her shoulder. "Sister, I... I'd like to ask a favour of you. If it wouldn't bother you too much, could you perhaps talk with Elswite sometimes? She's really worried of how the rest of our family will react to meeting her, and... well, she has been really excited about this thing so far, but she's only starting to realise what it means that she married a prince."

Lothíriel sighed. This was just the kind of thing she had been worrying about.

"I'll do what I can", she told him. After all, it wasn't like there was changing this thing now. "But you must understand she's entering some uncertain waters. There's no telling how she'll be received in Dol Amroth."

"I know that. And that's why I'm thinking maybe we'll settle in Rohan for good, if I can find ourselves a livelihood here. And anyway I'm not sure Elswite would be too happy in Gondor", Amrothos said, scratching at his chin thoughtfully.

"Yes. I maintain these wild northern madcaps fare much better here under the sun of Rohan than in Gondor", she agreed. Perhaps, if Amrothos stayed for Elswite...

Perhaps her family could be just that much bigger.

"You'll be all right here?" he asked then.

"Of course. I'm a woman of the Mark now", she said. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Well, maybe I'm a man of the Mark too", he pointed out and winked at her.

"You certainly are mad enough", Lothíriel chortled. "Just take care of yourself while in south. And if you see our father or brothers, give them my love."

"That I will do", Amrothos promised. Then he grabbed her into yet another hug, and in that show of brotherly affection she finally felt that concern he had been hiding so far.

* * *

"But I want to go too!" Elric exclaimed as the horses were being prepared in the courtyard; the King and his men were about to ride for Dunharrow, and ladies of the household would come along to send men on their long way east. Elric, however, along with Ceola and Elfhild, would stay in Edoras. Éomer had not often seen such an uproar fill the place – not in some time at least. Aside from Helm's Deep, it was years now since his uncle had last ridden for war.

"We talked about this already. You have to stay here with Ceola and your sister", Lothíriel told the boy patiently. For some reason, Éomer had stopped to observe the two, though he had meant take care of goodbyes quickly. He had never liked saying farewell to his kin... he had already taken leave of Elfhild, which had been quite painful, and the girl too had seemed to understand her father would be gone for a long while.

And now he had to go through the same thing with his son.

"I want to come! Please, let me come with you!" Elric argued. His eyes were very bright and there was a flush on his cheeks, and for a moment Éomer even thought he might sneak after the company when they had gone.

"I know you want to come, but your father wants you to stay here. You must listen to him now, Elric", she told him firmly. Strange it was, to see how much the relationship between the two had changed. Though in years they were only 8 years apart, it was more often that Lothíriel acted mother-like towards the boy than not.

"But Lothíriel!" he complained in frustration. "You can talk to him, tell him-"

"Tell me what, son?" Éomer finally asked, announcing his presence. His wife sensed this was something best left for him to deal with, and she turned towards her mare to secure the saddle.

"I know why you'd like to come with us to Dunharrow", he said evenly. "You mean to do it so that you could join the Riders when we leave for Gondor – in secrecy, if need be. I forbid it, Elric."

"Father, I can fight! Just like I fought in Helm's Deep!" Elric said heatedly.

"I know that, my son. And you did very well – Amrothos has told me how brave you were. You will be a fine warrior one day, but this is not that day. You're not ready for what we are about to face... in fact, I don't think many a grown man is ready for it", Éomer answered. No, he couldn't let his son dash into a peril like that. _He's __so young... _

"Please, Father", Elric entreated and the desperate note of his voice nearly broke his heart. "Let me come with you."

"Elric, you must do as I say. I can't take you along this road, my boy. You have to stay here and support your aunt and Lothíriel. There is much important work here to do as well, and they'd probably be thankful if there was someone to care for Elfhild while they're busy", Éomer told his son. Then he pulled the boy into a hug and held him tight. "I promise we'll ride together some other time. But first you must learn to obey."

Elric let out a low moan and his shoulders fell; the Marshal knew his son's defiance had broken. Still, the boy answered the hug tightly. He just barely heard the boy's voice when he spoke.

"Just come back, Father. Don't let them kill you", he mumbled.

"Of course, son. Watch over everything while I'm away, dear boy", said Éomer, though he had no idea if he could keep that promise... and eerily he was reminded of a day so long ago now, when he had said goodbye to his own father. Hadn't the man said something like this too? Perhaps his own fate wouldn't be so different than Éomund's... still, he tousled his son's hair and gave him a smile.

But now the moment of departure was at hand. Realising he had taken almost too long with his son, Éomer nodded at his wife – they still had a little more time left in Dunharrow – and strode to oversee the preparations.

When all was set at last, the King's steed shot forwards, and beside him rode his heir and trusted men, and the great gathering followed. Down the green hill of Edoras they rode, out of the capital of Rohan, and towards Dunharrow. As they rode forward Éomer cast one last look towards the seat of the Kings of Rohan and wondered if he'd see this place again.

When they arrived at late afternoon, there already was a bustling camp standing in Harrowdale. Before the evacuation of Edoras for Helm's Deep word had been sent to each corner of the land to muster Eorlingas, and by now there was already six thousand waiting for the King's orders. Up in Dunharrow there was already lodgings ready for the King and his household, where they headed.

Once he had surrendered his own stallion to a groom, Éomer made his way to the side of his wife. Lothíriel was still mounted, studying the place with that thoughtful look on her face like usually when she forgot herself in the middle of her musings. Placing a hand on her thigh brought back her attention and she smiled at him. That smile seemed to go straight into his heart and tear it: soon he'd ride away again and leave her behind. With melancholy he wondered if in a future there was a day he would not have to take leave of her like this... or if partings was all this world had in store for them.

"Help me down?" she asked, blissfully ignorant of his thoughts. He nodded and carefully lifted her by waist as she took support from his shoulders. As he lay her down a great need to kiss her came to him, and without a further thought he pressed his lips on hers.

When he pulled back, she was breathless and flushed and her eyes shone. _Oh, she was beautiful. _

"What was that for?" she asked. Éomer managed a weak little smile.

"You are quite lovely, dear heart. It just overcame me", he said softly and gave one more kiss to her forehead. Forcing himself to sober up, he said: "There should be a tent for us here somewhere, I think Éowyn might know. I suggest you two go and get settled down... I'll see you later."

"Of course, dearest. Go and plan your victories, my Marshal", she told him with a smile.

_Victories... I hope you are right about that, my dear._

* * *

The look on Éowyn's face was stern and even cold as she supervised the preparations of food for the King's Company. Lothíriel had always admired her effortless efficiency: with one hand she saw to the meal and with the other arranged the King's saddle and reins to be cared for before the journey. As the mistress of the King's household she was in charge, but she had asked Lothíriel to stay close. After all, there was a time coming when these duties would be hers... if the war could be won, that was.

When most urgent things had been taken care of Éowyn offered they sit down for a bit and take a quick bite of food. As the two women were enjoying their bowls of hot stew with some dark bread, Lothíriel glanced pensively at her sister-in-law.

"Is something wrong, Éowyn? You have been very quiet today", she spoke at last. Indeed, ever since they had ridden from Edoras the older woman had been trying to hide this troubled look. Something was obviously on her mind.

"It's just all this anxiety", Éowyn answered, not looking up from her meal. "It is hard to bear."

"I know", sighed the princess. Suddenly she didn't feel so hungry anymore. "Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later..."

"Aye. I hate not being able to do anything", said the White Lady. A frown creased her brow and in her eyes there was a strange light. She continued, "I _hate _it. Why should I sit here waiting for the doom to fall? I could wield a blade too."

"But doesn't your uncle want you to stay here?" Lothíriel asked carefully. But though she tried to keep her tone soft, Éowyn still turned sharply to look at her, and those piercing eyes were full of fire.

"Doesn't it frustrate you at all, then? Are you content with always being left behind, and having no say or even a chance in trying to make it better?" she asked angrily.

"Of course I don't like it", said the princess calmly. "I was brought up in the middle of warriors, just like you were. I've never liked it, but I don't see how I have much choice. And now I have others around who depend on me."

Éowyn grimaced. She didn't look quite convinced. But then her frown became thoughtful and she glanced at Lothíriel.

"That is quite true. It's not just us three – uncle and Éomer and I – now. There's you and Elfhild", she said, though her words didn't quite sound like she was answering to what Lothíriel had said... but to something else, like an argument the princess was not aware of.

"Of course. And a while ago now I understood that our being here was what your brother needed. He's different now than before – I mean, when I married him. I see it in his eyes sometimes... I suppose it's true what my father once said. Loving someone, and having people to fight for makes you strong", she said quietly then.

"I'm happy that it turned out so for him", Éowyn answered and her voice was surprisingly harsh, "but not all of us can live on light and love."

She stood up, looking cold and angry, and Lothíriel shot up too as she feared she had said something wrong.

"Éowyn, I didn't mean to-" she started hurriedly, but the older woman lifted a hand to interrupt her. Gradually, Éowyn's face became soft again, though her eyes were sad.

"It's all right. You didn't do anything to insult me", she said gently and touched the princess' shoulder. She sighed and looked away for an instance, and when she turned her gaze back to her sister-in-law, a melancholy determination shone in them. "Don't be angry with me for being the way I am or the choices I make. Perhaps you'll understand some day."

Before Lothíriel could say more, Éowyn turned and went about her way, and there was a cold feeling in the heart of the Princess of Dol Amroth.

* * *

Plans for the heavy journey ahead filled most of the afternoon. Aside from him and Marshal Elfhelm and Erkenbrand and their captains, Lord Aragorn was present as well, and Prince Amrothos too. Surprisingly war councils sobered his usually cheerful mood, and he gave useful insights to the geological aspects but also on the defence of Minas Tirith. He'd be riding for Gondor too: apparently the injury he had received in Helm's Deep was healing nicely enough. When Éomer had asked wouldn't Imrahil want him to stay in Rohan, the prince had shrugged.

"Well, I think Lothíriel is well off in Edoras. She doesn't need me there and perhaps that's what it takes or her to get used to Elswite. And anyway, as a son-in-law to Lord Erkenbrand, isn't it kind of required of me that I fight for the Mark?" he said in that familiar carefree way of his.

Éomer had not been able to hold back a chuckle, "In case you're planning to become a man of Rohan, you're doing just finely so far."

For all their counsels it was agreed that nothing much definite could be decided quite yet. For one, riders were still arriving so the final amount of Rohirric spears remained unclear, and a lot depended on what the actual situation would be once they got to Minas Tirith. As the evening fell King sent off his men, for each to catch what rest they could before the long journey ahead. Éomer remained, however, but as soon as it was just him and his uncle, Théoden gave him a gentle little smile.

"Go ahead, sister-son. I know you'd like to share this last night with your wife", he said gently.

"You don't need me here?" asked the Marshal nevertheless.

"I'll send for you, if something arises", uncle promised. His eyes turned soft, "Don't worry, Éomer. You'll see her again after all has been fixed in Gondor."

"You think so?" Éomer said, his voice uncertain.

"Indeed I do. Like I told you before, I believe you will see a new day dawn beyond this darkness. Now off you go, dear sister-son", Théoden urged. The younger man flashed him a smile and complied.

He found Lothíriel sitting outside the tent that evidently belonged to the two of them. It was not far from the King's own lodgings. She didn't notice him at first, for she was in the middle of the task of polishing his saddle. The life in the Mark had taught her some skills she'd never have needed in Dol Amroth.

"I didn't know you could do that", he commented softly as he observed her work. Lothíriel looked up and smiled at him.

"Elric taught me. Sometimes there's idle hours back in Aldburg, when I'm waiting for you to come home... it helps actually. Not to think too much, I mean", she said and as she spoke her expression became troubled and even sad. She looked down on the saddle on her lap. Oh, how he wanted to pull her close and tell her it would be fine! But then, that could very well be a lie.

Gently, he lifted the saddle from her lap to inspect it.

"Good work", he observed. "You're a proper woman of the Mark, dear wife. Soon you'll be shoeing horses."

She gave him a watery smile and he put aside the saddle. Then he pulled her in his arms and she melted into his embrace. After lingering there for a while he pulled at her hand gently, and Lothíriel followed him to their tent. With a collapsible bed and furniture and furs on the ground, it felt like a real room. Warm it was too with the brazier at the corner.

His wife wiped at her eyes and took a breath, but when she looked at him he could still see the tears glistening. She tried to smile nonetheless.

"Have you had anything to eat? I could go and fetch something, if you want", she offered.

"It's all right, dear one. Come here. I'd like to hold you, now that I still can", Éomer said softly, and it didn't take more than that for her to dash back into his arms.

"It's all right. I know how it feels", he murmured into her hair.

"I wish you didn't have to go. I can't stand it, not again. Not so soon", she answered, her voice full of defeat and grief.

"Dearest wife", he sighed softly, breathing in the scent of her hair. Odd it was to think this could be the last night they'd share together in this mortal world. "I wish I could tell you that all will be well and I'll return in one piece... but I don't know what it is ahead of me, and what darkness I'm going to face."

She let out an unhappy moan and looked up at him then. Stubbornly she rubbed her eyes, like that'd rid her of tears.

"It's stupid, really", Lothíriel said at length. "We've been together for almost two years, and only now do I understand how much I love you. I need more time."

"Aye", he agreed. "Lot has changed since we were wedded, don't you think? And you... you're so different from that terrified thing I wrapped in a cloak."

Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh, though he observed the sound was just slightly hysterical.

"And you're still the same big dolt", she said, but at least she was smiling now. He answered that smile and kissed her then. It went on for a while, but then he pulled back.

"Beloved, if I don't return-" he began, but she pressed a finger on his lips.

"No, don't say it out loud", she pleaded. "I can't... the thought kills me. And I don't know what I would do if you died."

"You'd carry on. For Elric and Elfhild", Éomer answered, as gently as he could. She couldn't argue against that, and so she just closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.

Though he knew it pained her, he knew this was something he had to tell her. So he continued: "I'd ask you to stay here in Rohan, at least for a while. Raise our daughter well, and look after Elric. A day may come they'll make Elfhild a Queen... or perhaps her son a King. Or if the burden falls on Éowyn... she'll need support. I don't want her to be left alone."

She moaned at that and opened her eyes. Lothíriel looked at him and in the grey depths of her gaze he saw something scared and young.

"It's unfair", she said. "Why do you men get to ride head-first into this danger? Why is it the place of the women to stay behind, and wait for the tidings in fear and anxiety, and then mourn when the husbands and brothers don't come home after all? Why is it our task to look to mending our broken families when our own hearts are beyond healing?"

"Because you can do it. Because you're that much stronger, even if you don't believe it. I see the spirit in you, Lothíriel – that same spirit that drove you out to seek freedom before we were wed. As I saw it in your eyes on that night in the stables, I see it now", he told her, cradling her face between his hands. "You will heal. I promise."

Lothíriel did not answer in words. She groaned softly, and then kissed him, kissed with such fire like the world was ending. And perhaps it was – perhaps this was the last night of their lives.

There was tenderness in their embrace they had not shared before, and some of it was because a part of him still feared hurting her. But also it was because of what this night meant, and the road he would have to take when the morning came. And the feel of her, the warmth and the scent of her... her skin, her hair, her hands... he wished to cover every last inch of her in kisses, and take the image of her with him... to death even, if that was his fate.

"I'll return. I'll return to you", he hoarsely promised in the middle of it, when her legs locked about him to keep him close, and the grip of her hands turned almost violent in the desperateness of it.

"You must", she insisted and claimed his lips in yet another kiss, and he never wanted this night to end.

But end it did.

* * *

The air of morrow was cool and biting. This high it was colder than back in Edoras or Aldburg, and emerging from their tent had been unpleasant – it had felt like he was leaving behind something more than just the warmth of what felt closest thing to home now. Just as biting were the news that Lord Aragorn had departed: he had taken the Paths of the Dead, and none knew now what might be his fate. It troubled Éomer as he doubted Aragorn would ever again emerge into the world of the living... but Uncle did not seem too worried because of it. He had faith in the Ranger, which Éomer should perhaps share. After all, this man of Dúnedain had brought hope with him.

His wife's expression was grave and unsmiling as she stood beside him, waiting upon him as the King and his closest men broke their fast. Éowyn seemed equally grim, if not even more so. But what Lothíriel had said last night helped him see... as a man of action and used to fighting, he could understand it was not easy to stand back and just wait for the doom to fall. He certainly would not have been able to do it, and only now did he recognise what strength it required.

Food tasted ash on that morning, but he forced some down with the knowledge there wouldn't be many chances for eating properly on the road. He didn't even know now when might come the next opportunity for food and rest. But such was the way of war, and it was long ago that he had hardened himself to endure such challenges.

But for all the anxiety in the air, Uncle did not seem as restless as the others. Instead, his blue eyes were calm if single-minded. He soon noticed Éomer watching him and the King offered a gentle little smile. And somehow, in that one look, there seemed to be a promise and conviction, and the younger man was even able to conjure a smile as an answer. Then Théoden looked about and the softness of his eyes turned into determination.

"Well, my lords. I believe it is time", he announced. In orderly silence his company exited the table, and went about their ways: some to see to last minute preparations, others to say goodbye to their wives and families. From the corner of his eye Éomer spied Éowyn slipping out, and almost called after her to bid her farewell... but she was gone then, and a small hand had claimed his own.

Lothíriel followed him quietly outside. She was very silent, like she couldn't bring herself to speak. It was outside that he gathered both her hands in his own, covering them... suddenly, he felt like he couldn't speak either, though there was much in his mind that he'd like to tell her.

She was looking down on their joined hands, and the grip of her fingers turned tighter, more desperate. When she looked up at him he could see the tears welling in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. His dear wife was trying to be brave for him... yet it was obvious how difficult it was.

"Be careful. Don't do anything rash", she said at last, fighting to sound fearless, "Remember to take some rest whenever you can... and don't push yourself too hard. You must take care of yourself."

"Of course, my dear heart", he answered gently. "Same goes for you. Don't worry too much for me, Lothíriel. There are people here who need your care more, and for them you must stay strong and endure."

At that she finally let out that sob she had been holding back, and threw her arms about him. He held her close and buried his face in her dark hair, breathing in that scent for one last time...

"Just... come back. Come back to me", she murmured in a broken voice.

"I will", he promised, for what else could he tell his wife?

One last kiss he gave her, but it was now time to move, and Firefoot was brought for him. The great stallion was tossing his head, restless for the road.

"Ride forth, Son of Eorl", said Lothíriel ever so quietly, and he gave her a smile. Then Éomer knew he had to let go of her, hard as that was, and his fingers passed from hers. He mounted his horse, but his wife reached for his hand. There she placed a wreath, wide enough for him to wear it around his wrist. There was heather and wild flowers from meadow, woven together in elaborate pattern.

"Ride forth, Son of Eorl", she said again, "Ride and fight, so that you may come back home to your hearth and family."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm having a good day so you get an early update. My muse is on steroids.

The board is now set for the Battle of Pelennor Fields. We should get to that in the next chapter, and we should see more interaction between Lothíriel and Elswite. I thought about writing a scene between them in this chapter, but eventually decided to focus on the preparation of war here. Anyway, the conversation between Lothíriel and Amrothos should perhaps answer to the need of exploring this part of the story.

Amrothos certainly is more entrenched in the Rohirric society. He appears to be thinking of settling down in Rohan with Elswite. How Imrahil will react to this will be revealed soon.

Thanks for reviews!

* * *

**Borys68 - **I wouldn't say she was bitchy about Elswite per say. It was more about what Lothíriel perceived as irresponsible, reckless behaviour.

Anyway, like you say, Amrothos has made himself way in Rohan in case he'd like to stay. But we'll have to wait for now to see how that turns out!

Also you're definitely right about Elric. He's way too young for a battle like that.

**Sandy-wmd - **That he is! And I like writing about him too. :)

**Kiiimberly - **Wait and see! :)

**Talia119 - **Yes, it did seem like a necessary slow down after Helm's Deep. But now we're back in business.

Oh, I know it was a bold move to take the story that road. But what can I say? It was really that or killing off Amrothos, I perceived. And the stubborn oaf wouldn't agree to the latter, so... I'm not sure I'll do a separate piece on them, though. I'll try to explore them as much as I can in this story, however.

As for what happened between the two of them, I'm thinking maybe I'll let Elswite tell about it on her own words.

Thanks for pointing out that thing about Dreda and Éomer's relationship. I suppose it's just so obvious for me that I don't remember to explain myself always... I'll try to work on it.

**SymphonicPoem - **Glad to hear that! :)

**1607hannah - **So far, so true. :D

**A Light in the Night - **That it certainly was. It was necessary to make up for their separation, I think. :)

**Anonymous - **Now that's dedication! :D


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

When the Muster of Rohan was gone and the thunder of hooves had faded into distance, a strange hush fell over Harrowdale. Those left behind began the work of clearing the camp wearing grave expressions, and what words were exchanged were spoken in low voices.

Lothíriel had stood watching the departure of the Eorlingas in quiet. Only when the last rider had disappeared did she move again, and she lifted a hand to wipe away the stubborn tears from her cheeks.

There were steps then, and as she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw Lord Erkenbrand. He halted to stand beside her. He was almost as tall as Éomer himself, but he was of broader build. Large he was nevertheless, though his eyes spoke of gentleness far greater one might have expected at first look. His long hair was so light it almost seemed white under the sunlight and his eyes were very blue.

"My lady", he greeted her in a voice that grumbled low and soft.

"Lord Erkenbrand", she answered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself for warmth. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced."

"Not indeed. Prince Théodred, rest his soul, spoke of you once. He deemed you a fine lady, equal in beauty and grace to our own Lady Éowyn", said Erkenbrand with a bow his head at the mention of the late prince.

"And what do you think yourself?" she asked.

"I cannot make my own assessment quite so soon. But I'm glad to finally meet you, my lady. Much has been said of Lord Éomer's wife the Princess", he answered. He noticed her doubtful look and smiled, "I assure you they're good things. It's just not often that we have Gondorian princesses among ourselves."

"Of course", she answered and looked again over Harrowdale. Soon, she'd have to return to work, but there were things she'd like to discuss with this man yet. So she went on, "Are you disappointed for having to stay behind when your King rides to Gondor?"

That brought another smile to the man's face.

"If I was twenty years younger, then perhaps I indeed would be disappointed. But now I am old enough to understand the task of staying behind is just as important as facing the danger head-first. Our farms and fields do not defend themselves, after all... perhaps the glory of a great battle that my King is facing is one thing, but I think there is also honour fighting for the hearth and the home", he said thoughtfully. Though she wasn't sure why, his words brought a smile on her face too.

"Speaking of younger versions of ourselves, I would have found that statement quite odd coming from an Eorling. I thought you were such a warlike people, who had little concern for other things than glory in battle", she said softly. "I have had to re-learn much that I knew."

"Aye. And now you're one of us, lady", Erkenbrand said. He too spoke in gentle tones.

"I'm glad to hear you think so", Lothíriel said. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and wondered out loud, "but I also wonder if the Rohirrim might consider yet another Gondorian as their own."

The man instantly caught her meaning. He smiled widely, which she took as a good sign.

"In the Mark men are judged by their deeds, not by their origins. Prince Amrothos' efforts in Helm's Deep certainly speak for him, as does the help he lent to Lord Éomer when he was searching for you. Future will show more of his character, I deem. As for Elswite... as her parents, myself and Léoma are quite impressed that she wedded no less than a Gondorian prince. It is a great honour in any case. As long as he treats her well, we are happy", Erkenbrand said. His eyes glinted with good humour, "This makes us kin, doesn't it, my lady?"

"Indeed it does", Lothíriel said and answered his smile.

"What of the rest of your Gondorian family, then? What do you think they will say once they hear, Princess?" Erkenbrand asked. She could tell he was worried about that, no doubt because of her own initial reaction.

She lay a gentle hand on the man's forearm and offered him a smile she hoped was reassuring.

"My father is an understanding man, Lord Erkenbrand. How could he be anything else, considering he's Amrothos' father? I know I reacted rather harshly upon witnessing the marriage of my brother and your daughter, but I assure you it was not because of any ill will towards Elswite. I was merely worried whether he really understood what he was doing... and if he'll know to treat your daughter with respect and love she deserves. In part it was because of our uncle, the Steward of Gondor, and how he might react upon hearing the news", she answered.

Erkenbrand nodded. He stood silent for a moment, looking down upon Harrowdale, which was now so quiet and empty when the Riders of Rohan were gone. After a short silence he spoke again.

"Well, in that your brother already is like one of us. It's quite common in Rohan for the young folks elope when the war is at the door. I reckon we'll be hearing of many other sudden marriages", he said.

That was when their conversation was interrupted, for one of Erkenbrand's men came striding towards the two. There was a troubled look on his face as he approached them.

"What is it, Wonred?" asked Erkenbrand; he too had seen the man's expression.

"My lord, Lady Éowyn cannot be found. We have searched everywhere but there's no sign of her", said the man, and Erkenbrand's brow furrowed.

"Look for her again. What do you think Théoden King will say if we lose his beloved niece?" he ordered; his face quite openly betrayed his concern for Éowyn.

But then Lothíriel reached for his arm, as she remembered the conversation she had shared with her sister-in-law yesterday. Oh, how blind she had been! She should have seen this coming.

"You're not going to find her, even if you turned each rock on this mountain upside down", she told the two men, feeling curiously cold at saying those words. Both of them frowned.

"Whatever do you mean, Lady Princess? Surely she must be here somewhere", Erkenbrand insisted.

"No, she's not. Lady Éowyn has ridden with the Muster of Rohan", Lothíriel said gravely, her voice almost breaking down. Indeed, she was fairly certain that Éowyn's horse would not be found, and in her tent they'd find her gowns abandoned. She had yet to see any proof like these, but deep down in her heart she knew it must be true. It was the only way Éowyn's behaviour and words yesterday made sense... and these two things, her disappearance and what she had said, explained one another very clearly.

"Then we must send riders after them! She must return to us", Erkenbrand insisted. But the princess gave him a small sad smile.

"There are over six thousand riders with Théoden and they are making haste towards Gondor. How do you propose she should be found from among them? No, Lady Éowyn has gone, and we can't do anything but let her walk this path she has chosen for herself", she said, though it was difficult. Éowyn gone... how was she going to manage without her sister-in-law?

But this was about Éowyn, not her. It was her sister-in-law's choice, desperate as it may seem... Eadmod had once said Théodwyn's children were made of steel, and somehow it made sense that Éowyn would want to ride for Gondor as well.

Erkenbrand and Wonred exchanged a helpless look. They did recognise the sense in her statement, but she could tell they were just as worried by the absence of the White Lady. Only then did she realise what kind of bedrock Éowyn had been for all these people... and for her, too. She had counted on the older woman to be there, but now it all fell on her. Though she could understand Éowyn's decision to go and she wasn't angry for it, it still scared her. For what would happen if she did not return?

"Then we should do nothing?" asked Erkenbrand. He didn't seem convinced yet.

"I don't see how we can change anything. If she has decided to go, then nothing we can say will bring her back. Lady Éowyn is not someone to change her mind if her head and heart are set", said the princess. Hard as it was, something told her that her sister-in-law must be allowed to follow this path. Perhaps it was what it took for her to find that peace of mind that she needed.

* * *

When the King and his riders were gone, all that was left for his people in Rohan was waiting.

Frustrating it was, of course... but on those moments when the fear and doubt would eat her heart, Lothíriel thought of what Erkenbrand had told her back in Dunharrow.

The duties of the Lady of Meduseld fell on her now that Éowyn was gone. In the end it was not too different from her duties back in Aldburg, though the King's household had its own intricacies and altogether it was more extensive. But few days by Éowyn's side before the call for help from Gondor had come had helped her to get familiar with how things were done here, and the servants of the household were invariably helpful.

But hours of night were long, and as she tried to fall asleep in that chamber which had been Théodred's, Lothíriel couldn't help but wonder... how was her husband now, and how was Éowyn? Oh, she'd think about her sister-in-law endlessly, and of the road that had brought the White Lady where she now was. There was no telling if it was for better or worse, and if she'd even return alive. Closer inspection in Dunharrow had also revealed that the Halfling Meriadoc was missing as well. It wasn't too hard to put two and two together: he had gone with Éowyn. She was perhaps the only one among the King's Riders who could share a mount with him. Thinking of the two riding together, Lothíriel felt something of a reassurance, if only momentarily. Perhaps it was a good thing that Meriadoc had gone with the White Lady.

She was not the only one waiting for her loved ones to come home, of course. Edoras was full of families that had sent their men to east and uncertain fate. Among them was Elswite as well... newly wedded and so soon parted from the man who had wrapped his cloak about her shoulders. She had come to stay in Edoras and served as a lady-in-waiting to the Princess, expecting for the time when her new husband might return and their lives together begin.

Remembering what Amrothos had asked, one day Lothíriel approached the wife of her brother and asked the young woman to walk with her alone. Elswite agreed of course, though she did seem a bit scared.

When had exited Meduseld and were strolling downhill – with three guards behind them of course – Lothíriel glanced at her young sister-in-law at last.

"Your life has changed much as of late. Now you are a wife to a Gondorian Prince. Doesn't that scare you?" she asked.

"Of course it does. I never thought my life would go this way... but he's worth it, I think. I'm not scared when I'm with him", Elswite said softly, lowering her eyes. Suddenly, she seemed so young, and Lothíriel sighed to herself.

"I was wondering", she said as gently as she could, "what really made you do this? Why did you marry my brother?"

Elswite let out a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob.

"I know what you must think. A silly little girl, throwing herself at the handsome prince just because he happens to pay attention to her..." Elswite said, cringing to herself. "It's not just that, I swear. He's so funny and sweet, and he makes me laugh. When he's telling me about Mundburg and Dol Amroth, I feel so free."

"You must understand what it was like when he first came to the Hornburg. Not much happens there, except lately... everyone is so grim all the time, especially with the Prince dead. And then this handsome warrior in blue arrives, grinning and looking like no sorrow of the world could touch him. It's overwhelming, I tell you. And then he pays attention to me... I've been waiting for something like that for such a long time. I'm not sorry that I gave myself to him, Princess. He was just so distressed and I thought maybe I could make it better, have him smile like he did on his arrival. And so we found this dark place where no one could see us, and... and though I expected nothing of the sort, he said he'd marry me if he'd survive", she continued. Every now and then, her voice would rise with excitement. Then it would turn more thoughtful and quiet again, and she'd frown.

"So, when the next day came and the battle was won, I... I admit I was worried whether he'd keep his word. But the healers were holding him back and I could but wait. I was silly to doubt him of course, because when I approached him and asked if his word still stood, he told me that of course he'd keep it. And so he gave me his ring and wrapped me in his cloak. I've never been happier", she said, smiling brightly as she remembered what had taken place.

Elswite looked at Lothíriel again, but now her happy smile became a concerned look.

"My lady, do you think your family will be very angry with me? Like you were, when I wedded Amrothos?" she asked.

"Dear Elswite, I was not angry with you. I now realise my reaction was out of proportion, and I can only say I was not quite on my right mind after the night", Lothíriel told her firmly, "Still, my anger was not for you but for my brother doing something that seemed irresponsible to me. I thought he was acting recklessly and that he'd not be a good husband for you. Moreover, I worried our uncle the Steward would not be happy because of it."

She patted gently the shoulder of her sister-in-law and sighed before she continued, "I can't say for sure how our family in Dol Amroth will react, but I do not think they'll be angry. Our father at least is used to Amrothos doing unexpected things, and they are a loving people anyway... In the end, I'd think they'll receive you well. Just be yourself and I'm sure they'll love you. The Steward might be one thing, but with Father's support we should be able to figure this out."

"Really? You think it'd be so good?" Elswite asked eagerly.

"I think so. But only time will tell", said the princess. "If this war goes well... if all the hopes of Men become true, then I'd believe all things of love and joy are welcomed."

"So he may yet return?" Elswite asked. In her eyes there was a glint one could almost call feverish.

"Amrothos is a fine warrior. He made it back to Rohan and to my lord husband when there was little hope... and he made it through the battle of Helm's Deep. Perhaps he has some luck in store yet", said the princess gently. It felt odd to be giving this comfort in the middle of all this uncertainty, when she too would have welcomed words of hope and solace.

But such was the way that had carried her... such was the place of a queen, the one which she was now tasting even though Éomer was not yet proclaimed the King.

"I do like him, Lady Princess. I really do. And I'm sure I'll love him, when he returns and we can start our lives together. It would mean much to me, to have your good grace. You'll be the Queen, after all", Elswite said, eagerly searching the face of Lothíriel.

"Of course, Elswite. He did wrap you in his cloak, after all... I've been in Rohan long enough to understand what it means", said the princess as softly as she was able, and it did seem to her that those words brought some comfort to her sister-in-law.

_Well, brother, it seems like you do have a family here in Rohan... now I just hope you can keep it, too. _

* * *

It turned out that the running of the household was not all Lothíriel was left in charge of.

The absence of the King and his sister-children meant that the princess was closest thing to a regent in the realm. Had she been all alone in the middle of this, she'd probably have felt very scared. But the King had left some of his trusted men to watch over the kingdom: those were Master Metodlác, old Gamling from the Hornburg, and Lord Erkenbrand.

"In the eyes of Eorlingas, you're the representative of the House of Eorl now", said Metodlác couple days after the Muster of Rohan had ridden for Gondor, "and it is not unlikely that you'd be asked to sit the throne as a regent if the King and his sister-children should not return."

"Me, on the throne? You can't be serious", Lothíriel said with no small amount of shock.

"Of course I am, my lady. You're wife to Lord Éomer, and so far you have fulfilled your duties most admirably. Indeed, a word has spread of your efforts last winter when the crops failed and your father sent grain and livestock to the Mark", said the old Rohir solemnly. He continued in a low voice, "And of course it is wished that you might carry an heir to the House of Eorl, in case your lord husband meets his end in the east."

That made Lothíriel frown and she bit her lip. She didn't know it was possible so soon after what had happened on the plains, but she remembered Hrodgar's healing hands... and the nights she had spent with her husband, here in Edoras and in Dunharrow before he had left. But what then, if she was again with child?

Could she bring up a child, a son even, and raise him into a King of Rohan without Éomer by her side?

"I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to upset you. But you must understand it is a great concern of all the realm. We would see our throne in good hands, and the continuation of Eorl's line ensured", said Metodlác, gentler this time.

"Of course. I understand it is an important matter", she said softly. It certainly explained why there were moments when it felt like people around her were holding their breath, as if they were expecting something to happen. In any case, the hope that Lord Éomer's child might be growing inside her did evidently call for some strict security measurements, and one of them was the two guards who always followed her.

One day, when she was outside picking up something from the markets – she had told Scýne she was not so high and mighty that she couldn't be bothered to go and mingle with the people – Lothíriel heard a woman talking to what looked like a widowed old relative of hers: "There goes our Queen."

It almost had the princess stopping where she stood, and to argue that she was no queen yet. But the looks on those women's faces rendered her speechless, and silently she went on, Ethelgifu's words echoing in her mind. Only then did she really understand what Metodlác had really meant... and if it really came to that her husband would not come back, she would not be able to leave this land to seek widowhood in Dol Amroth.

It was like she had told Éowyn: there were people depending on her now... but the amount of those people was far greater than she had then thought.

And though there was war in the east and Rohan herself had not yet had time to recover from the grim years of Wormtongue's reign, the everyday life went on without paying any heed to great battles. Erkenbrand, Metodlác and Gamling all agreed that a sense of normalcy should be retained, and things attended to and discussed, and prepared for the attention of the King when – and if – he should return. So, on days Lothíriel found herself sitting in the council chamber with the three men, discussing the matters of the realm. The traditions of the land demanded a representative of the House of Eorl be present in councils, and she was virtually the only one qualified. She did her best to contribute, though often she felt inadequate and young and foolish.

Many things they discussed, but much also had to be left undecided in the absence of the Lord of the Mark. Théoden's trusted men were always cautious of their use of power, though sometime they'd fall into lengthy debates of what he'd have said and done. In the smaller matters, like in caring for refugees from the ravaged Westfold, the rebuilding of the Hornburg, or just strengthening their posts in case a war came her from the east, they could exercise their judgements.

If this time taught her something it was the two-sided nature of power. It was not just having people do one's bidding... it was also making hard decisions, and living with them.

And the hardest thing she had to do was signing a death sentence of two men.

The matter was brought to her about a week after the departure of the King; news had not since then arrived from east, and the tense atmosphere hung over the kingdom. She had been talking with Mistress Alfware, the woman in charge of the running of the kitchens, about some running matters of the household when Metodlác approached her wearing that solemn look she was starting to recognise.

"My lady, I'd like to have a word with you", he said quietly.

"Of course", she answered, Alfware retreated with a bow of her head.

When they were seated in the council chamber – they usually had these formal talks there – Lothíriel cast a searching look at the man before her.

"What is it, Master Metodlác?" she asked. The frown that appeared then on his face alarmed her and she wondered if some bad news had come from Gondor.

"There is the matter of some criminals, my lady. Technically this would be under the jurisdiction of your lord husband... though their crime was severe enough to be put under the consideration of the King. A crime of such severity is, of course, a treason", said the old Rohir.

"A treason? Tell me more", she urged carefully.

"As you know, an attempt was made against the life of your daughter Elfhild when you were in the captivity and Lord Éomer was looking for you. Though she survived thanks to the efforts of your servant Master Hrodgar, an attempt against the life of the child is a grave matter. She is, after all, a daughter of House of Eorl. According to our law threatening the life of a member of the royal family is a treason... and the punishment for it is quite clear", Metodlác explained slowly.

"I see", said the princess quietly. Suddenly, she was feeling very cold. She bit her lip, "Shouldn't such a matter be left for the attention of the King?"

"That could be considered yes, if the King was in his kingdom. But we do not know when he might return, and these villains have been waiting for justice for a while now. Usually, when the proof is so overwhelming as in this case and the villains themselves have confessed their crime, the justice is carried on swiftly. But the absence of the Marshal at the time of this crime, and the events of late have not enabled the justice to follow its course in the realm. However, the death sentence can't be carried without the approval of the royal authority... which of course is you for the moment, Lady Princess", he answered.

"So you'd have my permission to have these men executed", she said quietly.

"Aye, my lady", Metodlác affirmed. His face remained solemn as he studied her expressions.

Lothíriel looked down on her hands, wondering what she should answer. Yes, these men Metodlác was talking about had tried to kill her child, and had she been present when it had happened she might have had them killed on the spot... in fact, she might have grabbed a sword herself and attacked the two by herself. But now she felt just bitter unease. She didn't think she could just order the execution of two living human beings – it didn't seem right, to anyone have a power of just saying a word that would end lives.

But then, there were many things in this world that were not right, and trying to kill a small child was one of the worse things she could imagine.

"My lady, I understand if you are feeling troubled, but they did try to murder Elfhild your daughter. Trying to take a life of an innocent child is horrifying enough as it is, and for that alone I'd think they deserve death. Moreover, treason can't be tolerated. You would do nothing wrong in giving me your word", said the man before her.

He was right, of course. Justice had to be served and would-be killers of children deserved no mercy.

So she sighed and nodded.

"Do what you must, Master Metodlác. You have my leave as a representative of the House of Eorl", Lothíriel said quietly.

When she left the council chamber, her mind was filling with noise and cold thoughts.

_This is what it means. This is what it takes to wield the power of the King. _

* * *

On the night after the death of Théoden, Éomer, the new King of the Mark, dreamt of fire and death.

Though the battle had ended and the clash of steel and screams of men and animals alike and the moans of the wounded and dying had faded away, in his dream the fight still continued.

In his dream, Uncle was still charging, charging endlessly towards the swarming masses that was the Enemy's army sent to destroy the world of Men. In his eyes the rage of battle shone and he rode tall and furious, hewing down orcs and men serving the Enemy... rode and rode and rode into his death.

He remembered not feeling fear, but he did remember the faces of the fallen... and Théoden dead, dead and gone like Éomund so many a year ago; indeed it felt like losing his father again. And Éowyn!

Éowyn laying pale and still and quiet, as only the slain lay.

That was what awoke him. With a gasp, Éomer sprung from his bed, fingers curling about that knife he had hidden under his pillow and ready to strike.

But as his breath slowed down and the cold sweat on his skin made him shiver, he realised the battle had ended. There were no enemies here, and Éowyn was yet among the living. He wouldn't have left her side, but eventually Prince Imrahil had lain a gentle hand on his shoulder and ordered him to go and catch some rest. He had thought he would not be able to sleep, but the moment he had fallen in bed he had passed out... only to return to the battle-field and that horrible moment when he had thought his sister dead, and the crimson haze of madness had taken hold of him.

Tiredly, he fell down to sit on the edge of bed, resting his head in his hands. There was a pounding sensation inside his skull and he felt like choking. _Uncle... _

Standing at the edge of abyss, with no reassurance whether they might live, and the one last look Théoden King had given him before the charge of the Rohirrim... now he understood: Uncle had not thought to survive. In that look, there had been love of a father and a goodbye.

It took a while for him to calm down. By then light was already growing outside and he decided it was futile to go back to sleep. No, staying here would only have made his grief worse. Instead, he pulled on some clothes and exited this chamber where each moment of silence threatened to drive him mad. First he thought about going to see Éowyn, but she was probably still asleep and needed her rest.

It was Imrahil whose company he sought. His father-in-law had made his headquarters in the King's Study, and he too was awake at this early hour. Whether it meant the man had been up all night, Éomer couldn't tell, though he wouldn't have been too surprised if it was indeed so.

"Good morning, my friend", said Imrahil at the sight of him and gave the young king a tired little smile. He gestured at the chair opposite himself, which the Rohir claimed.

"Good morning to you as well", he said. "You do not look like you have slept at all last night."

"I did, however briefly. There is too much to do at the moment and too few men to do those things... luckily, my son Elphir was there to help me. I only just sent him to get some rest", answered Imrahil.

"You could have sent for me", offered the young man.

"Of course not. You needed rest after your journey from Rohan and fighting from dawn till dusk", said the Prince, waving the matter away. His brow furrowed then, "How are you feeling, if I may ask?"

"Kind of numb for the moment", Éomer sighed. He looked away, towards the window and the light of new morning. How could the world carry on so easily when so much evil had befallen? He turned to look at Imrahil, "There will be a time to mourn for all that has been lost. But I fear it will have to wait for now... the world does not stop for anyone's grief, after all."

"That is quite true", agreed the Prince of Dol Amroth. He leant back in the chair, though he didn't look entirely at ease. Éomer could understand why that was: with Isildur's Heir so near, it didn't feel right for the Prince to occupy this place which was Aragorn's. Just like it had felt wrong when the men had called him Éomer King.

Looking at his father-in-law, he was reminded of something he had hoped to discuss with the man.

"Did you see Amrothos yet?" he asked carefully. The young prince had ridden among the Rohirrim; though he had not lifetime's experience of horses and riding, he had kept up all the way to the end. He too had participated the charge... and though he had lost his horse along the way, he had survived the battle. When Éomer had rallied his men for one last stand, Amrothos had joined the shield wall. For once, there had not been a trace of his usual good cheer. But tall he stood in his blue and silver raiment, ready to go down side by side with the Men of the Mark.

"Oh, I did. I had no idea that he too was riding among the Rohirrim, so you may imagine my surprise when he came running to me late last night when the battle had ended", Imrahil answered. A faint smile touched his face.

"Did he tell you the news already?" asked the King.

"Yes. But to be honest I was not too surprised to hear of his marriage. I rather expected he'd come up with something like that, and truthfully I'm astonished it didn't happen sooner. He was so excited about getting to travel to Rohan when I first sent him on his way", said the older man. He let out a weak little laugh and shook his head.

"I was thinking maybe you'd be angry to hear of it", Éomer said. Seeing Imrahil's calm attitude had him relaxing, as he had worried how his father-in-law might react.

"Well, I do not think it's the best idea he has ever had, and I can assure you I'll have a long talk with that boy once I can. But I've always tried to teach my sons they ought to keep their word and hold on to what they promise. It wouldn't be right to let down this young woman my son has married, and I believe your people would regard it an insult as well if we Gondorians did not take seriously our vows to you", said the Prince at length. He scratched at his beard thoughtfully and sighed.

"That is true", Éomer said. He narrowed his eyes as he thought of the situation, "And I can promise you that Amrothos will have a place in the Mark, if he chooses to keep his family there. Erkenbrand's son, young Ethelred, was slain in battle, as was his nephew Dúnhere... I have a say in the matter as I'm the King now, but I'd think Erkenbrand himself would not be opposed to the idea of Amrothos acting as his successor. And anyway, there will be work for able men in the Mark if we can win this war. Too many have died on the battle-field."

"You'd have Amrothos as one of your trusted men, even knowing the things he sometimes does on an impulse?" asked Imrahil.

"Your son has been of great help to myself and the Mark. I do believe I owe him not only my own life, but also those of my wife and son. And he was present in the Battle of Helm's Deep, where he reportedly fought very valiantly... Amrothos does have the makings of a great man, if he can just learn some wisdom and consideration. I do believe Erkenbrand is the man to teach him those things. So, in other words, I would like to give him a chance", answered the young King.

Imrahil nodded, evidently satisfied by his words. To Éomer it even seemed like it had eased some burden off the Prince's shoulders. The Lord of Dol Amroth smiled then, but in that smile there was something bittersweet.

"I'm glad to know my son has a place among your people. Perhaps it's more fitting of him... sometimes he's so restless back in our home by the sea, like he didn't quite fit there. Certainly he can have a life there that might be more fulfilling than living his days in Dol Amroth in the shadow of his two older brothers. Yet it feels odd and sad to me as a father. I didn't think I'd be giving two of my children to the keeping of Rohan", he said softly.

"I assure you they both have the highest honour in our land. They have the love and respect of the Rohirrim – Amrothos too, if to stay is his choice", Éomer assured his father-in-law. Imrahil wiped a hand across his eyes, like to hold back tears.

"Then I wish they'll bring glory to Rohan and to your house, Éomer King", he said softly.

But then he smiled again; it was full morning already, and the young King became again aware of the passing of time. Perhaps Éowyn would be awake already, and he could have a proper talk with her...

"I believe I should go now and see to my sister. We will talk more later, aye?" he asked Imrahil. The Prince nodded.

"Of course. Go to your sister, my friend, and bring her my regards as well", answered the older man. With a parting smile, the King of Rohan took his leave.

* * *

It all seemed like an insane dream to Prince Amrothos now that he was sat at the barracks and was slowly spooning hot stew into his mouth. Looking back at the ride from Rohan, and then the great fight on the Fields of Pelennor, it didn't seem like something that had really happened. Even now he was thinking perhaps he'd soon wake up and find himself back in the land of the horselords.

But here he was in Minas Tirith... months ago, when he had left the White City and travelled west towards Aldburg, he hadn't thought this would be the setting of his return.

And he had made it through the day alive.

Helm's Deep had been one thing, and it would have been a lie to say he had ever participated something so enormous. But when the Muster of Rohan had taken their lines before the army of Sauron and prepared for a battle, Amrothos had thought what he had seen in the Hornburg was nothing. For one instance he had felt fear and he had thought of his sister and her family and Elswite... but then, as the voices of Eorlingas rose about him and saw the brave determination on the faces of the King and his nephew as they prepared their men for battle, his fear had grown small and disappeared. Instead, he had felt single-mindedness. So he had fought, right until what he had taken for the bitter end, and then to new hope as Aragorn had arrived.

He had found his brother and father in Minas Tirith – Erchirion had stayed back in Dol Amroth – and for a while it had felt like all would be well. Father hadn't even been too angry with him, but had rather worn that tired and resigned expression he knew very well from the years of his boyhood. He wasn't sure if that was because Father genuinely was not too angry about what he had done, or if it was just because he had enough of things to worry about already. As for Elphir, he had just snorted and rolled his eyes. Be it as may, Amrothos had grinned to himself when he had made his way to look for rest. He'd get to tell Lothíriel _"I told you so." _

Now, however, he wasn't quite so untroubled. News from the commanders' council had arrived... and apparently there was going to be one more battle – on the very front of the Gate of the Black Land.

Amrothos' thoughts were interrupted by Captain Éothain. The man had taken a gash to his cheek and would probably sport a scar to his dying day, but the man himself did not seem daunted by his injury. Before, Amrothos had heard one of the men asking if Scýne would dislike the scar, but Éothain had just chortled.

"You seriously think she married me for my good looks?" he had asked, which had roused some laughter... a strange sound in the middle of all this death, but somehow also healing. No matter what, life would go on.

"What's on your mind, Amrothos? You look like you were trying to see the face of future in that stew of yours", said the Rohir. They were long past calling titles and formality, and anyway fighting side by side made such things kind of unnecessary.

"I was just thinking of the big plan. I wonder why the captains have made such a decision", he said, glancing at Éothain.

"Éomer was reluctant to speak of it after the council. I didn't get much out of him but it seem a very delicate matter. Some secret weapon, I deem. Your father probably knows lot more than I can tell, so I suggest you ask him", he answered and picked himself a piece of bread. He took a bite and chewed it, watching as the men came and went.

"What did he say? Your king, I mean?" Amrothos asked. _King Éomer. _Well, there was something to ponder on. He had known it was bound to happen sooner or later, especially considering what had happened after Helm's Deep. But he had thought there would be few years at least to get used to the idea... because _King Éomer _also meant _Queen Lothíriel. _

"Not much", said Éothain and disrupted Amrothos' thoughts, "But I could tell he was deeply troubled by it. I'm guessing he was thinking of his family."

"Of course", said the prince. He frowned as he thought of his sister... and not just her, but Elswite too. If it was true they'd be riding for Morannon, it probably meant he'd have to go as well. What mockery of fate it would have been, to just have found her and then plunge into death...

He shook himself and searched Éothain's face.

"Aren't you troubled by it?" he asked.

"Of course I am", said the Rohir, his expression turning solemn. "And I worry about Scýne and our little one too. But there's not really choice about it. I'll follow my King."

_Yes, of course._ If Amrothos had learned something during his time in Rohan it was that the Rohirrim had unconditional love for their kings and the House of Eorl. And there _was _something unexplainable about Éomer, something that inspired awe and a wish to follow him wherever he may lead. Indeed, Amrothos had a feeling he too would have followed his brother-in-law without questions if Éomer just asked. It was an odd thing to realise, because somehow he had not been aware of it like this before.

"Do you think we'll see them again?" he asked quietly. Elswite would be safe with Lothíriel and Scýne too, that much he knew... the three of them would take care of each other, if their husbands should not return. And still, as he thought of the young woman he had wedded, the one who had kissed him so fiercely when he had thought he'd die, he wanted to live _so much. _He had always loved life, but never as fiercely as he did now.

"If we do, we can consider ourselves a very lucky lot", said the captain, and Amrothos found he couldn't but agree with that statement.

But then... as he sat there, still weary from the ride and the fight and knowing this battle ahead was something more dangerous than anything he had ever done or ever would again, Amrothos decided he would survive.

_I am going to live. _

* * *

With a sigh, Éomer closed the door behind himself and wandered into the chamber they had given him. A glance about the room reminded him of the last time he had stayed in this city... he could very easily picture the pale-faced young woman, sitting on the edge of bed, and looking like she was either going to run away screaming or just throw up.

Now that woman was in Rohan, waiting for him. Now that woman loved him.

And now he had chosen a path that could very well lead him into death.

Éomer sighed again and stopped at the window, thinking of what had just taken place in the war council. The decision had been made. The Host of the West would ride for the Black Gate of Mordor, to give two little hobbits their best chance of completing a task upon which hung the fate of the world. For the joined forces of Gondor and Rohan it was a quest of little hope; as strong as the two kingdoms might be together, the Enemy was still stronger hundredfold.

And now, as he stood in this chamber and outside the weather looked like it was promising one of the most beautiful springs, he was having a dark feeling of foreboding.

It was not his own life he feared for when he thought of this nearly certain demise. No, Éomer had been a warrior far too long to cower at the face of death. However, it wasn't just about him anymore. He had other duties now too, and those were of a husband and a father. What would happen to Lothíriel and the children if he should die in a battle? Who'd protect them and fight for them, if these plans were in vain and the West fell?

_I promised I'd return... _

He wanted to live – he thirsted life now like never before. And two years with Lothíriel was not enough. As a matter of fact, he didn't think an entire lifetime by her side would have been enough. More than that, he wanted to see his children grow up, and see their children born, and grow old with his wife. But none of this was about what he wanted.

And he imagined them, his dear wife and his children, put to sword and laying in their own blood as Meduseld burned... or made slaves and facing fates even worse than death while their homes were plundered and usurped by the servants of the Enemy...

A moan of pain escaped his mouth as he practically fell down to sit on the floor, his head in his hands. _No. _Such thing could not fall on them!

Finally, he understood what bitter cup it was to be the King. On the other hand, there was his family and on the other, the freedom of Men. He thought what Uncle would have said and what he would have done. Of course Théoden would have ridden for Morannon: his wife and son were gone, and he might even have told Éomer to stay behind.

Was it right for him to go, then? Or had he made the wrong call in promising to follow Aragorn? Was there any hope that the plan to distract the Enemy would result in the deliverance of them all? If there was such possibility...

Freedom would belong to all the Children of Men. The shadow of Sauron that had fallen over so many generations of Men would dissolve at last... and Lothíriel and Elric and Elfhild would be able to live under the sun in peace. Was his life not a small price for such a thing?

Wouldn't giving his life for their sake be just another way of protecting them?

One more time he sighed and got up from the floor where he had sat, tormented by not knowing what was the right path. But now he knew, and the surety of it made the burden easier to carry, though none of its weight was lessened.

Closing his eyes, the King of Rohan thought of his wife, and of what he had to do. _Two years of life... _

Was there any hope of more?

* * *

**A/N: **I return with an update! This is not perhaps the best chapter I've ever written, but I think there's some important instances of character building here. For one, I wanted to have Lothíriel interacting with Erkenbrand and Elswite, and develop Amrothos' story a bit more - he does have a future in Rohan now as it looks like. Also I wanted Lothíriel to get to see what's it really like to be in the position of the queen, though word of Théoden's death has not yet reached Rohan. Furthermore, I included that one bit where she speaks with Metodlác where she has to give her leave to execute the two men who tried to kill Elfhild. Though Lothíriel certainly agrees it was an evil deed and she might react very angrily if she was face to face to the two, I also thought she would not be comfortable with the idea of having such a power as to execute people.

I chose not to write about the Pelennor Fields battle, because I don't consider myself such a good action writer, and anyway it seemed unnecessary to write about something that is already described and shown both in the book and the movie.

I'm actually thinking the story won't be much longer than this, though I can't tell for sure how many chapters I still have in store - unless I get some sudden inspiration and want to write more about the years after the war. But we'll see about that... I confess, I'm kind of anxious to get to working that other story I've been drafting lately.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Borys68 - **I suppose it was an attempt to show Amrothos' knowledge of Minas Tirith and participate him in the war council.

We'll probably get more on Amrothos' thoughts on his future choices and whether he'd like a life in the Mark. He'd certainly have the opportunity for it, as the conversation between Éomer and Imrahil shows. Also in this chapter you see a bit of Lothíriel's changed station in the Mark - hope you liked it!

**Sandy-wmd - **It wasn't really too dramatic, but I'd think Lothíriel kind of knew to expect something like this.

**Talia119 - **Thank you! I'm glad to hear you think so. I care a lot about these characters so I'm always worrying whether I do them justice.

Well, Éomer is called "the Blessed" after he has become the King, so I thought why couldn't he in this version be blessed even beyond his years as the Lord of the Mark.

**1607hannah - **Though they certainly are concerned for her the Rohirrim aren't unfamiliar with the idea of women riding into battle - what with the stories of Shield-maidens. So even as they may worry for her they let her go her way. In this AU I'd think it's a bit easier anyway, considering Éowyn is not here the last of the House of Eorl. There's still Lothíriel and Elfhild, like Éowyn herself pointed out in the last chapter (I think it made the choice of going that much easier for her). And like it's discussed in this chapter, people hope that Lothíriel might be pregnant.

**Kiiimberly - **Yes, I thought that point of view sometimes really is forgotten.

**Dawn - **Thank you for your kind words! I am really happy to hear you think so and that you've enjoyed reading the story!


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

"Roga! Roga! Eli! Eli!"

Elfhild's newest favourite game was to be handed off between Hrodgar and Elric. She'd waddle to one of them and extend her little arms towards him; she'd then be picked up and for a moment she'd contently stay there, playing with her current holder's hair, or as in Hrodgar's case, with his beard. Then she'd suddenly decide that she'd rather be held by the other, and she'd call for him. As she couldn't yet pronounce their names, Hrodgar became "Roga" and Elric was simply "Eli".

Elric was ever happy to play with his little sister but the surprising part was Hrodgar's evidently endless patience when it came to the child. Lothíriel even suspected Elfhild was the only person on Middle-earth who could touch his beard like that and get away with it.

Currently, it was the old soothsayer who was receiving the beard-treatment, and Lothíriel smiled absent-mindedly at the sight; watching her daughter with Elric or Hrodgar or Ceola was one of the few things these days that could really make her smile and forget about her many concerns.

"My lady, if you would concentrate", Master Metodlác's voice called her, betraying only a hint of frustration.

"I beg your pardon. Would you mind repeating what you just said?" she asked, focusing again on the man before her. The Mistress of the house should not let herself be so easily distracted.

She had been talking with Metodlác of plans that would have to be made for the nearing foaling season. With so many a man away in the war, it would take some effort to see everything went well. And though no news had come from east, Erkenbrand had expressed his concern for raising new horses to replace those that would inevitably be lost in the war. In a way it felt odd to make such far-reaching plans when the outcome still remained unknown.

Be it as may, the King's trusted men held the notion that Rohan should not mark the time while the war continued, and she agreed. At least it made people feel that there _was _a future beyond these days.

It was this conversation she was having when the doors of the Great Hall were opened and a rider strode in, looking wind-blown and ragged like he had just ridden from the ends of Arda.

"My lady!" he called as he strode forward, alarming the princess and the old Rohir she had been talking with. The rider continued, "My lady, I bring word from Mundburg."

"What is it, Rider?" asked Lothíriel as she turned to look at the man. He looked like taking a deep breath, and when he spoke it was in a clear strong voice that echoed in the vaults of the hall.

"Théoden King is dead. Long live Éomer King!" he announced; for one brief moment a hush fell in the Hall. But then other voices echoed those fateful words: _"The King is dead. Long live the King!"_

And then Metodlác, standing by the princess, fell with some difficulty on a bended knee. Gravely he looked up at the woman beside him, and called in a voice of a man who had once been used to bellowing orders on a battle-field: "Behold the Queen!"

"Hail Lothíriel Queen! Hail the Lady of the Mark!"

* * *

Only after sitting down and taking few sips of that tea Hrodgar had prepared for her did Lothíriel finally start to feel like she might not throw up after all.

It was stupid, really. She had been effectively acting as the queen ever since the Muster of Rohan had ridden for war, so why should it being made official change anything? Yet now it was out in the open, it was decided and the course of her life was irrevocably set. Somehow, it was now much more _real. _

The news had spread from Meduseld like a wildfire, of course. When they had pulled her to stand on the stone terrace outside, there had already been a crowd gathered, and what had taken place in the Hall was repeated. Somewhere in these parts, words _Hail Lothíriel Queen _still must be echoing about.

And that was not even the worst of it. No, after this news had been brought, the messenger had announced even more tidings from the White City. Though the great battle before the walls of Minas Tirith had turned out a victory for Men and both Lord Éomer and Lady Éowyn had survived, the war was not quite ended yet.

The word was that the Host of the West had ridden for the Black Gate of Mordor. The new King of Rohan had decided to go as well, leaving behind his sister and Marshal Elfhelm.

At that Lothíriel had felt her head spinning and the weakness in her legs, and she had sat down; somewhere in the back of her throat a cry of horror was trying to make its way out, and it was all she could do from breaking apart right there on the front of the trusted men of the King and her own ladies in waiting. Hrodgar had seen she was not feeling too good, and he had appeared by her side.

And now – mostly at the soothsayer's request – she was sat here, in the chambers she had barely moved into, and felt scared and small and hope in her heart was threatening to fail. Hrodgar was hovering near, like a quiet but concerned shadow; Scýne wore not an entirely unlike expression on her face. No doubt she was thinking of her husband Éothain. Elswite was present too, but Ceola had taken the children away, and for the moment Metodlác and Gamling were conversing the news. Not even they were able to hide the worry in their eyes.

"My lords", Lothíriel said at last, when she felt like her voice might not break down after all, "I would like to hear your insight to these tidings. What do you think? Is it certain death that awaits them?"

The two men shared a doubtful glance, and she glared at them, "I want your honest opinion, nothing else. I'm not going to let you wrap me in cotton and pretend nothing is wrong. If you don't tell me the truth, Hrodgar here will see it and I'll have him turn you into frogs."

As of late, Hrodgar's obscure reputation as a witch had been a source of many a jest; her veritable acceptance of him as a part of the family had seemed to lighten his opinion on that matter, and he never took offence when his supposed witchcraft was mentioned in japes. But though it was now an attempt on her part to ease the doom and gloom for a bit and perhaps fight the despair that would swallow her, she sometimes thought Metodlác for one took references to Hrodgar's alleged abilities at least half-seriously.

"My Queen" - there that word was again! - "it is really almost impossible to tell how this will turn out. From a plainly militaristic point of view, it is a suicide mission to challenge the Enemy into a battle on the front of the gates of his own land. Even the combined forces of the Mark and Gondor can't imagine to survive it", Gamling began slowly, his eyes grave. Lothíriel breathed deep and bowed her head; Metodlác noticed and hurriedly continued from where Gamling had left.

"However, I'm certain Éomer King and the other captains must know this just as well. They are not men to make such a decision without a good reason. I am certain they have some greater purpose – something beyond what we can see. But since we do not know what it is, one can't say for sure what will be the result of this campaign", he said. There was a note of comfort in his tone, the kind she both appreciated and loathed at the same time. Appreciated, because solace and reassurance was what Lothíriel longed for in the depths of her heart. Loathed, because it made her feel even more weak and useless than she already did.

_I'm the Lady of the Rohirrim now. I ought to be stronger than this. _

She sighed and gathered her will, though a part of her still wished there might have been some older and wiser to show her road. But she pushed back that thought and regarded the two men before her.

"So your answer is that we can but wait and see", she said. Gamling and Metodlác nodded quietly. She frowned, "And what then, if this plan of theirs – whatever may be its purpose – does succeed, but my lord husband does not return?"

"You are the Queen, my lady. It is now official, even if Lady Éowyn returns", said Gamling softly. It was obvious what he meant: her life now irrevocably belonged to the Mark, and the Princess was of small consequence when compared to the Queen.

_She was a woman of the Mark... _odd, how it had never felt more true than it did now.

"Fine", Lothíriel sighed and downed last of her tea, which was lukewarm now. She didn't know if it was the drink brewed by Hrodgar or just some quiet sense of understanding, but it seemed to her now she could see ahead, in a way. She looked at the men before her and stood up, "I will be your Queen, then. But let us just hope my lord husband will return, because I don't think I'd make a very good regent."

At that, both Gamling and Metodlác smiled.

"Let us judge that, Lady Queen", said Gamling, and despite herself Lothíriel answered the smile.

* * *

For some reason, servants of the household seemed to think the most important thing of a new queen to do was to relocate into the royal chambers. Mistress Wilflede, Éowyn's right-hand lady and a chatelaine of Meduseld not unlike Bierwén back in Aldburg, asked that same day whether the Queen wanted her and the King's things moved into the rooms that had until now belonged to Théoden.

"No, that will be unnecessary. I should think we'll move there when my lord husband returns, not before", she announced. If it had been uncomfortable to claim Théodred's old chambers, she knew it would have been even more awkward to move into Théoden's rooms. And truth was, moving into the royal chambers would have just made it all that much more _real. _

Théoden was gone. He had gone down that shadowy path Théodred had travelled not so long before now... and left behind his sister's living son and daughter, and the children that might have grown up regarding him their grandfather. It was wrong and unfair for him to go like this, even if the Rohirrim regarded death in battle an honour undimmed. And Lothíriel herself realised that though she had not really known the man, her conversations with him had revealed he had been a good and gentle man, and she could have loved him like a second father.

But now Théoden had passed and the burden of carrying on and leading the Rohirrim belonged to his sister-son, if he should return.

_And if he doesn't... there's still a Queen in the Golden Hall._

Hrodgar was one of the few people she told of her doubts and fears. Why should anyone accept her as a ruler if Éomer fell? She was but a young foreign princess, without a single drop of the blood of North in her veins!

But the old man looked at her seriously and didn't seem too affected by her words.

"It is far too late to consider yourself an outsider. You stopped being that when Éomer King made you his wife. You're no foreigner, my lady, and no princess. You're the Queen and the protector of the line of Eorl", he said evenly. He was rather good at handling these little panic attacks, but this time his words had her jumping to other ideas, and her eyes widened.

_Protector of the line of Eorl..._

"Hrodgar, do you think I might be pregnant? Please, tell me!" she demanded and reached for his hand; he had known the last time she was with child, and had advised her not to leave Aldburg...

"Have you been intimate with your husband, before he departed?" he asked, looking rather awkward.

"Well of course! Why else would I be asking this? Please, Hrodgar!" she pleaded with no small amount of concern.

"Then it is entirely possible, but I fear it is much too early to tell for sure. Even my sight has its limits", he said reluctantly, looking away from her. Lothíriel bit her lip and fell back, fidgeting her hands in her lap.

"It's expected of me, isn't it?" she mumbled. "But what if I can't... what if there's not going to be a male heir for the House of Eorl?"

"Then something else has to be decided", Hrodgar said nonchalantly. "After all, Éomer King does have one legitimate child already."

She nodded then and sighed; though concern for future and the safety of her husband were a constant presence in her mind, Lothíriel knew all she could do was wait. A part of her would have liked to be angry with him for taking such a road... but the stronger part knew he had no choice. Éomer had to do his duty, and same went for her.

As for the children, Elfhild seemed mostly unaffected by this change in their living conditions. She was still so small anyway that she couldn't have grown much of an emotional attachment to Aldburg and the chief thing she missed was apparently Eadmod; she had settled just finely in the royal nursery, and her toys and clothes had already been brought from her old home. If the child protested to something it was the fact that she was expected to sleep all alone, and though Lothíriel knew it was no way to help her daughter get used to the nursery, she let the little one sleep beside herself many a night. That was mostly because of how lonely the spacious chamber felt on the long hours before dawn. Watching Elfhild's calm, content face as she slept was a comfort in the face of all this uncertainty.

Elric however wasn't quite so happy about this change. He had his life back in Aldburg, his friends and his training. He missed Grandmother Eadmod too, though it had already been agreed that she'd move into Edoras to stay with the family of her grandson. The foal his father had given him on Yule had been brought to the royal stables as well. All was prepared for him to settle down in Edoras, and Lord Erkenbrand said Éomer's son could continue his training among the guards of the capital. Perhaps he could even join the King's éored once that time came. But Elric was not quite consoled by these prospects.

"You could go and stay in Aldburg, if you want. I'd understand if you wish to go", Lothíriel told Elric gently after taking note of his unhappiness. He shook his head, looking troubled.

"No. I don't _want _to leave you and Elfhild, and when Father comes back, he'll be in Meduseld too... all of my family will be here, and I'd be all alone – even Hrodgar will be gone. And I can't leave my sister and Naneth..." said the boy, the last few words spoken half to himself.

"You called me Naneth", Lothíriel said softly. Somehow, it didn't really surprise her. Suddenly Elric looked scared and ashamed.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to, it just slipped-" he apologised quickly, but she interrupted him by gently placing her arms about the boy. He'd soon be as tall as her, and yet he called her Naneth...

"It's all right, Elric. I don't mind. You can call me Naneth if you want", she said as tenderly as she could.

A small sob escaped from the boy's mouth and he buried his face in her shoulder, and Lothíriel knew that her husband's son would never choose anything over his family.

* * *

Two days after the word of Théoden's passing had arrived and Lothíriel was called Queen, Hrodgar approached the young Lady of the Mark wearing the look of a man deeply disturbed by something. She mused she only recognised this look on his face because of the time she had spent with him. Granted, he still had the ability of hiding his emotions even from her, if he so wanted.

"Is something amiss, Hrodgar?" she asked at the sight of him. He hesitated for a moment, evidently not quite able to decide whether he should speak up or not. But eventually he fixed his black eyes on her.

"My lady, there is something I ought to tell you", he said in a quiet voice. "A truth I have concealed until now, but I have decided I should perhaps be honest."

"Of course. What is it?" Lothíriel asked. She sought the man's sharply featured face, wondering what this was about.

"I... a bit of privacy would perhaps be in order", grumbled the soothsayer. He cringed now and she wondered if it was a sign he was already regretting this.

"Perhaps the garden behind the Golden Hall? It is rather nice weather outside", she suggested. Hrodgar nodded mutely, and the two of them made way outside. She leveled her pace to match his and the ever-present guards came after them, though they kept a distance that at least created a feeling of privacy.

The garden behind the hall had been the pride of the Queens of Meduseld in days past, and it was still kept in order, though during the years of late it had obviously not been the prime concern of the royal household. But it was nice still and Lothíriel was already thinking of how the place could be improved; having grown up in the middle of Dol Amroth's gardens, it would be nice to have a proper place for things that grow here too. In Aldburg there hadn't been such an opportunity, so finding the garden had been a pleasant surprise.

"Now, what is bothering you, my good man?" Lothíriel asked as she strolled beside the old man.

"I have not been entirely honest with you, my Queen. There is something... I almost did something quite horrible, and I have decided you should know what it is", he began uneasily. Now his mouth was a thin line but his jaw was set in almost angry determination.

"Go on", she urged him.

"When I first came to stay in your husband's household, I told you I'm not really a good man. I'd like to think I'm slightly better now, at least. And I swear I have done nothing like what I'm about tell you since then or ever will again. That is, if you forgive me", Hrodgar muttered. Now his face was positively pained. "It is about Dreda, my lady."

"What about her? I thought she was past already", Lothíriel wondered out loud. A frown knitted her brow and she felt uncomfortable too.

"That she is. But some time ago, when you were pregnant with Elfhild your daughter, Dreda came to me one night. She asked for a potion... the kind some women use to make sure their relations with a man will not result in bearing a child. This potion can also be used to intervene with the unborn child's growth. I sold it to her, though I had my suspicions already... you see, that potion is dangerous, if you use too much of it. Then not long afterwards she came to me again, and I knew my suspicions had not been in vain. I knew then she was not just thinking of removing your child. She hoped it would kill you as well and she was looking for another way. And though I had seen the shadow in her eyes on her first visit I did nothing to prevent her", Hrodgar said heavily, his features twisted by a grimace.

Lothíriel had stopped. At first his confession only brought her a feeling of coldness. Then she stared at him in disbelief. Only thing he had ever shown towards her was a dour kind of fatherly concern, he had protected her child and healed her... and now he was telling her he had aided in an attempt to kill not only Elfhild, but also herself!

"I am sorry, my lady. I can't tell how bitterly I regret helping her... and perhaps it doesn't console you, but after she had apparently lost the potion she came for more, and when I couldn't give her any she asked for something else. But by then I realised I could not have part in endangering your life, and so I refused giving any more help", he continued. Now Hrodgar sounded just plain miserable; he had obviously seen the look of shock and horror on her face.

"How could you! How could you help that villain try to kill an unborn child?!" Lothíriel shrieked at last. Her hands were trembling and then she just slapped him, with all the might she could muster. Hrodgar cried out and stumbled back. The guards following them stepped forward, both their hands on their swords.

"I'll call for you if I need you! I will deal with this myself!" she nearly screamed at the two, and they fell back.

As for Hrodgar, he had fallen on his knees... and when she looked at him, she could see tears in his eyes. There was such pain in those black pools that were usually so unreadable. Cowering there, he didn't seem dangerous or evil, and hadn't he confessed it himself, she'd have had hard time believing this man wanted any ill on her or her family.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, trying to figure out what she should do. Should she just have him taken prisoner and throw him in jail? But then, all the things he had done since then... healing Elfhild when she was sick, watching over the little one and saving her life, and then healing Lothíriel herself as well... which was the real Hrodgar, then? The one who would help achieving a thing as dark as killing pregnant women, or the one who had tears in his eyes when she told him she considered him a family member?

"I told you I'm not a good man. It did not seem to me I had any reason to be like that, not before my lady... I did not realise what a gentle and kind heart you were, Lady Queen", he murmured in a low, broken voice.

"It doesn't matter whether you like me or not! It's not right to give your help to those who would kill innocents!" she exclaimed, her voice rising again in anger. Hrodgar cast down his eyes, but just before he did she could see shame in his eyes.

"I know, my lady. Since then, I've done my best to atone for it. I've tried to fight for the lives my help might have taken, and if you would forgive me I would spend the rest of my days proving I'm not that man anymore – even to die for you, if that is your wish, my Queen. I owe you that much, for all the sorrow I might have caused for you and your husband, and for the kindness you have shown me", he murmured, head hanging low with shame and regret. But then he peered up, and he tried not to hide the moistness of his eyes, "Queen, I will lay down my life in your hands, like I should have done when I first came to be in your service."

Searching his eyes, Lothíriel tried desperately to decide what she should do. She thought of the first time she had seen this man, the unfathomable look in his black eyes when he had warned her... and then that time they had brought him for her to judge. She had trusted him blindly, and in many ways her trust had been rewarded. Had she not given him her protection Elfhild might not live today... and perhaps she would be dead as well, for she had been so very weak before Hrodgar had healed her.

But it was him who could have caused her to lose her life.

"If you gave such a potion to Dreda, then why did she not use it? At least I assume she didn't, considering Elfhild is quite alive and I am too", she said, a bit calmer this time but still feeling the cold hand of mistrust in her heart, like she had never thought she would for this man.

"I'm not quite sure what happened. Apparently she lost the potion somehow, but I did not ask the details. When she asked again for my help, I rejected her. I had already realised it was a bad idea to get involved with her... and I had heard how you were getting settled in the Marshal's household, and how people close to you had grown to like you. Even I, as horrible a man I am, have a sense of right and wrong. But none before you, my lady, really have made me want to follow the road that is right", he answered, sounding so unhappy it almost broke her heart. But Lothíriel knew she couldn't just let him get away with it.

"And what of your life before that? Are there more potions in your past, and actual dead people?" she asked briskly.

"No. Death and truth will out, and I had a bad enough reputation as it was. If I made it my business to help kill people in obscure ways, sooner or later the accusing finger would have pointed at me... and being a good for nothing cripple is not a good thing if you are driven into the wild all alone", Hrodgar answered. "That is the truth, my Queen. I swear I never helped to kill anyone, even if I had all the necessary tools at my use."

"So what would you have me do, then? Your actions could have lead to deaths of two innocents, and even worse. Have you any idea what it would have done to the relations between Gondor and Rohan if I had died in suspicious circumstances? Chances are my lord husband would have severely suffered because of it! They might even have accused him for my death!" she snapped then, and once again the anger stirred in her heart. But pain was there as well when she thought of what grief could have come to her dear Éomer.

But Hrodgar's eyes widened slightly at that, and he seemed mortified. He let out an unhappy moan and his hands became fists.

"I did not realise that", he mumbled ashamedly. "But I wish I could take it all back."

He sighed then and looked away for a moment. When he looked up again his eyes were sad and defeated.

"I know I have put you in a difficult place by telling you the truth, my Queen. But you deserve my honesty, and you deserve to know what kind of man I... I _have _been. I swear I'm not that man anymore – you and your family have seen to it. And I would die for you or them, any day. I ask not for mercy. I only ask you make the decision that will give you peace, Lothíriel Queen", he said, and then he bowed his head and remained quiet and unmoving on his knees.

Silently, she regarded the man on the front of her. Now he did not seem the kind of man that would hurt any innocent. But then, she had always known he was not the best of men. However, the time he had spent in her service he had always been loyal and true. And he had done his best to atone, that much she could agree with. This man could have turned out her undoing, yet he had saved her and her daughter. He could have lived his days in her good grace and never tell the truth... never risk the possibility that she would not be forgiving. Yet he had chosen to be honest even if it cost him the only place that had ever really accepted him as he was.

What was the right decision, then? Was she supposed to send him to imprisonment, or recognise that he had repented and become a better man?

And truth was, as much it hurt to hear of the thing he had tried to help achieve however unknowingly, she also felt not like she'd want him gone. No, she had began to trust this man and consider him one of her extended Rohirric family. How sorry would Elric and Elfhild have been to see him gone... for them and especially for Elfhild who had only ever seen him as her Uncle Roga it would be a very difficult thing. The little one would not understand it.

She thought of her husband and then her father, and wondered what they would have done. Would they think Hrodgar deserved mercy? Éomer, with his quick temper, could very well lash out if he heard of this. But Father... he'd consider the matter. And if Lothíriel knew him at all, she knew Prince Imrahil would have advised her to be merciful.

_Men can change, and sometimes they need mercy, even if they think themselves they do not deserve it. _

_Elfhild lives because of him. _

"I have made my decision", Lothíriel said at length, hoping she was right in doing this. "So hear me, Hrodgar son of Haleth."

He lifted up his eyes, and there in his eyes was hope mixed with fear.

"You have been of great aid to my family and to myself, and I recognise the courage you have shown. For a man willing to repent you have shown dedication. However, it would be wrong for me to allow you to go free after this", she began and it surprised her to understand how much it hurt to see the hope failing in Hrodgar's eyes. But she continued, "When I gave you my protection I announced I would bear full responsibility for you and your deeds. Now, having heard the truth about what kind of a man you were before you came to my service, I see I will have to bear that responsibility far longer than just a year and a day. So, to see whether you are worthy of my good grace, I'd have you prove yourself to me once more. I will have you live in honesty and truth from this day forward, but under my service, so that we may both learn the full meaning of trust I placed in you, and you in me by telling what you almost helped to achieve."

A small sound, something like a sob, escaped from Hrodgar. He bowed his head again and picked up her hand. He kissed it ever so gently, his beard scratching at her skin.

"You are my Queen, and what you will I shall do", he stammered in a hoarse voice. "And I will prove myself to you, every day for the rest of my life."

And that was the story of how Hrodgar son of Haleth became the Queen's man for good.

* * *

The way to the Black Gate of Mordor was one of the longest journeys Éomer had ever travelled. A sense of impending doom was upon not only him but most of the company: Prince Amrothos was one of the few who fiercely believed all would turn out well. Though even he did not find it in himself to smile like he usually did, he stubbornly insisted he was going to survive the battle ahead... for a battle there was bound to be.

Though Éomer had made his own choice and ridden with Aragorn, it had felt somehow wrong to take along so many of Rohirrim. He could decide to face almost certain death for his own part, but to make that choice for others as well? However, this was the only way of giving Halflings Frodo and Sam their best chance of delivering all the lands from shadow... and knowing the Rohirrim and how they loved their own, just like he loved his wife and children, he knew they too would die to deliver their families.

The last night before the battle he sat at the camp fire and stared morosely into flames, his mind faraway; he thought of his family back in Rohan, of Éowyn and her despair he couldn't rouse her from... and Uncle and Théodred and so many familiar faces lying dead on the battle-field. After so much death, how could there possibly be a happy ending?

"You are looking far too gloomy for a man so renowned as a warrior", commented the gentle voice of Imrahil, and the young king looked up; his father-in-law stood close, holding two steaming cups of tea in his hands. The Prince offered him one, which he received with thanks.

"It is not my own fate I was thinking of", he answered as Imrahil sat next to him.

"Of course", said the older man softly and took a sip of his tea. "I suppose not all of us can be like Amrothos."

"Hmm. I certainly envy him", Éomer remarked and looked down on the cup.

"Most men do according to him", Imrahil said wryly, which pulled out a quiet chuckle from his son-in-law. The Prince studied his face, "You were thinking of Rohan?"

"Aye. Of your daughter, and of the children..." answered the Rohir and he knew that the frown had returned to his face.

"I think Lothíriel will be fine. I never had the chance of telling you this, but when I visited Rohan last year... she seemed so... she had grown up so much. My daughter was always tenacious but during our visit I thought her heart had grown too. Though she might not know it yet I believe you can trust her to be a fine queen", Imrahil said gently. He looked away for a moment and something resembling a frown touched his face, but then his features softened again. "Can you guess how I know this?"

"I fear I can't answer that", Éomer said, casting a curious glance at the Prince. A shadow of a smile appeared on that finely-shaped face.

"It was the way she cared for what she considers her own. And I thought she was also starting to extend that to your son", said the Prince of Dol Amroth gently.

The King quickly looked at the older man. He remembered the awkward conversation they had shared back in the Mark, most of it consisting of Elric. Imrahil had not been too happy about not being informed of the boy's existence, but apparently he had already been informed of the ways of the Rohirrim when it came to children born out of wedlock. By then he had also had the chance of observing Elric with Elfhild and the great care and love the boy always showed his little half-sister. After demanding to know what would be Elric's position in relation to Lothíriel's children and hearing her offspring would not be threatened in the matter of inheritance, some of his most urgent concerns appeared to have dissolved.

"That is a correct observation", Éomer confirmed softly. "They get along very well these days. Elric is... he loves your daughter very much, like he would love a mother. And no wonder that he does, considering how she acts like she could be the woman who birthed and raised him."

Imrahil sat silent for a while, evidently not quite sure what to think or to say. He stared down at his cup, but eventually he let out a soft sigh.

"You know I had my doubts, like I told you back in Rohan. And... well, I am happy that it has turned out so. I'd like her to be happy, any way she can", he said at length.

The young king could but nod at that and for a while both men were left immersed in their thoughts. The camp was getting quiet now, though an atmosphere of gravity had ruled here all day. In the silence of his thoughts Éomer felt reassured that even if he should not return, his family would go on; the three of them would take care of each other, and Elric would see that his little sister would know the man who had been their father.

He was distracted when Aragorn sat down beside him. The man had forsaken his Ranger's garb and now truly looked like Isildur's Heir, though he had yet to claim his throne. He had said it didn't feel right to seek his inheritance before the Shadow had passed.

"The two of you looked quite faraway. I assume you were thinking of your families?" asked Aragorn softly. The King and the Prince exchanged a glance.

"Among the other things, aye", Éomer answered quietly.

"If you wanted you could-" began the older man, and the King of Rohan instantly understood what was on his mind. He lifted a hand to interrupt his friend.

"No. I believe I am speaking for both our behalf when I say there is no turning back, no matter how much thoughts of loved ones left behind might torment one. I promised I would come with you, after all. I believe Lothíriel would tell me to go as well", he said determinedly, at which Imrahil nodded emphatically, and Aragorn seemed to understand this was not debatable.

"We will see them again. I feel it in my heart, my friends. Yet be it as may, I am glad that you came. I would be much more concerned if the two of you weren't here", he said, smiling as he spoke.

"How could we stay behind when something so important is about to happen?" Imrahil said, giving his liege a half-smile.

"My friend, you came to Rohan and brought hope with you. And you fought for us and helped my Uncle to stand against a great enemy. How could I not do the same in turn? Not to mention my wife would probably have a thing or two to say if I just sat back and did nothing to help the people of her old homeland", Éomer said, trying for a lighter tone. His words seemed to have the hoped effect and both his friends laughed.

"Yes. What wouldn't we do for our women?" Aragorn commented.

"We stop at nothing for them... and the children we have with them", said the young king softly. "Still, it is such a blessing, my friend. Nothing ever really made sense, not before I married her. I hope your own love will find a way back to you as well."

"I wish that too", Aragorn said softly, and for a moment his brow was heavy with memories and a longing of many years. But then he smiled, "I have faith. For all the death I have seen and friends that are lost it only ever grows, and I believe there is a new day waiting for us beyond this night. We will endure, my friends."

"Aye", said Éomer softly, and he remembered one of the last things his uncle had told him.

_Even shadow must pass. _

* * *

What should one tell of that moment when death looms over and you're certain that shortly you will die? How to describe the darkness and the very lifelessness of the Land of Shadow?

And what of the armies of Mordor surrounding them, the dark and fell things of Sauron designed and raised to destroy his enemies? What of the hope's end, when a Halfling's mail was brought to them and that horrible moment of realisation that all had failed, and everything they held dear would fall into darkness?

Éomer, King of Rohan and Lord of the Rohirrim, knew that even if he had lived many years beyond this day it was a moment he'd have taken to grave, and remember how vast could be despair.

But though hope in his heart died, like it died in the hearts of his friends and comrades, his arm was still strong, and Gúthwinë as deadly as the day he had first ridden to battle. If he should die he'd make sure he would take many a foe with him.

The swarm of them was overwhelming, though, and no matter how many orcs and men he hewed down and slew, more kept coming... there was blood on his face, and he wasn't sure if it was his own or someone else's, and that crimson haze he had felt on the Pelennor fields was consuming him. And even as he tried he couldn't think of a life beyond this battle, nor remember the face of a young dark-haired woman who now was Queen.

All was death and blood and screams of men.

But then, as he beheld Hafoc his rider fall, Éomer was brought back through that madness of battle, and with a roar of anger he ended the great uruk who had killed his friend. Hafoc lay on the ground, his face frozen in that last moment of horror before death...

… _and the blood-stained insanity returned, and death was all, and shadow fell over the lands of Men... Lothíriel, sweet Lothíriel far away in the land of the Mark, slaughtered in her own home along with little Elfhild and Elric..._

All of them dead, and the world ended.

"Éomer! No!" Éothain's voice reached from somewhere far, but the younger man did not pay any heed to the shout. In madness he pushed forward and let his sword sing, his sword the Battle-friend.

Pushed forward, until he saw the great troll of the Enemy, armoured with more steel than any man could hope to carry, and wielding a large spiked club...

The stroke fell and he jumped aside, yet it was a second too late... and though Éomer wore his helmet the blow still felt like a mountain had fallen on the side of his head.

His legs gave in under him, he fell, and then his eyes went dark.

* * *

**A/N: **I was planning on getting this chapter ready only next week, but I had some spare time and a very creative state of mind (and then even more creative couple of hours in the middle of night), and so you get a second update in less than a week.

So, Lothíriel is now officially the Queen. Though she has been acting a de facto regent I'd still imagine such a thing made official would feel something of a shock. She was probably thinking anyway that Théoden would come back and Éowyn too, and she'd still have few years ahead before the crown would be passed to Éomer. Perhaps this is also in part why Hrodgar reveals Dreda's scheming from before Elfhild was born. I think it's brave of him, considering he could go on and never tell anyone what happened, and no one would be wiser. It is this honesty that earns him her mercy.

I'm probably a bad bad writer for leaving the chapter where I did, and the outcome of this development will have to wait for the next update.

Note on the language: Éomer's sword is indeed named Gúthwinë in canon, which is supposed to be Rohirric and means "Battle-friend". I have this head canon about Gúthwinë that it was a heirloom of Éomer's line, passed down from father to son.

Thanks for reading and for your comments!

* * *

**Borys68 - **Good to hear that! I was wondering whether I should just hurry ahead, but eventually decided I'd show a bit of how things proceed in Rohan while the war is still going on.

Yes, I imagine it's going to be a hard thing for Erkenbrand when he hears. At least he still has his daughter. And you're right about the fallen - their amount is overwhelming.

**GabrielaTJ - **To me it seemed they'd have to take a moment to think of that conflict. And I must say it was interesting to write from the author's point of view.

**Sandy-wmd - **That is a consolation, as I wasn't sure if people wanted a proper fighting scene.

Thanks for pointing that out. I suppose it was just too clear to me and didn't remember to explain myself. To answer your question: at that point Aragorn had already healed her, and that was about the only reason Éomer agreed to go and have some rest for himself.

**Talia119 - **Thanks for your comments! I decided that engaging different points of views was necessary, considering I have a pretty big cast of characters at this point. I'll have to think about what you said Imrahil.

At the moment there's going to be at least few chapters more. Whether there'll be a happy ending or not will remain to be seen!

**not paranoid enough - **Your observation is quite correct! I admit it took me a while to even notice this difference between how I've learned to punctuate and how it works in English language texts. It still weirds me out, because for me it seems so obvious that the comma should be outside! Anyway, I considered going for the English punctuation but I eventually decided against it. Chances are I'd never learn it properly and then my text would be a mish-mash of different styles - or that I'd learn out of the way I've been taught, and then punctuate my native language texts all wrong. I hope my choice to go with this punctuation system doesn't bother my readers too much.

**Kiiimberly - **Here's more! I feel positively evil. :)

You guessed right - it is indeed Éomer/Lothíriel story. Seems like I can write little else these days!

**Angel of the Night Watchers - **Good to hear that. I'd think they'd be more allowing in that regard anyway, considering the stories about Shieldmaidens.

**Mellon - **Thank you!


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

In dreams he floated.

He was remembering the first time he had set eyes on Fealu. It felt like an eternity had passed since then, and nowadays there were times he even forgot how she had looked like... but now the image of her returned to him, clear as a day.

She had been but a year older than him. Blue eyes she had, brighter and happier than any other eyes. Perhaps it had seemed to him like that because she was the first person since the deaths of his parents who didn't look at him as if she thought he might lash out any moment. On that first night in Meduseld, she had served him ale though he wasn't old enough yet and given him a smile. Until the very end she was tall for her age and curvy even when she was young, and her long hair was curly and luscious when sun hit it and made it shine.

Though Éomer was thankful to his uncle for taking them away from Aldburg and the painful memories that place represented, Fealu was the first thing that had made him feel welcome in the Golden Hall. She was only twelve years old but she already served in the kitchens, to support her sick mother who had died after Fealu had turned sixteen. And every day after his training he'd meet her, and she'd show him all her favourite places in Edoras. He had trained almost obsessively, and it was not a lie to say he did it so that one day he could avenge the death of his father, but a part of it was also because he wanted to impress Fealu.

And Fealu was quite thoroughly impressed.

Actually, she had been so impressed that not long after his fourteenth birthday she kissed him in the stables. After that, they kissed very often, and soon it was with fewer clothes, and he had thought maybe he should wed her.

Sometimes, he had been angry at himself for never reading the signs on that year Elric had been born. He had not recognised the growing doubt in Fealu's heart and he had not understood his own place in the grand scheme of things. Of course he had known he was of the royal house and the obligations that came with Eorl's blood, but he had thought Théodred was the one to carry the burden... after all, the Prince had been much younger then, and he had thought it inevitable that his cousin would marry a lady of sufficiently high standing and produce an heir for the realm.

But Fealu had possessed more sight and vision, and she had understood they would never be married. So she had left him and her disappearance had been a wound in his heart for many years... although eventually the son she had given him had numbed the pain and made him happy that he had loved her.

Well, as much as a boy of sixteen summers who was only starting to discover his own charm could love a girl who dreamed of a life far larger than just passionate embraces in the darkness of stables.

After Elric had been brought to Edoras, he had visited her grave, in the lands of Westfold where so many now lay dead... he wondered, was her grave still there, or had orcs and dark things plundered it? Still, there he had placed a wreath of Simbelmynë, and there had been tears in his eyes and he had been so scared when he had promised: _"I'll raise him the best I can."_

Little had he known what a good-hearted child Fealu had borne him... or that the son of his first love would save the life of another woman he'd grow to love. In the depths of his heart, he knew Fealu would have been proud.

That autumn he had returned to Aldburg, and wild as he had been he was also considered a man. He had participated in battles and slain orcs, and they said he had great promise in him. But Éomer had not seen that promise himself, for in that time all he could feel was _anger, _because Fealu was gone and no amount of orcish blood could wash away the pain of the deaths of Éomund and Théodwyn. The anger had only ever subsided when little Elric was near, and he saw that he had Fealu's eyes.

In Aldburg Dreda had waited him. She was not much younger than him but she had already decided they'd be a man and wife one day. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes when she had hugged him and he had not returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm. But try as he might he couldn't say anything... and it had seemed to him that Dreda had understood somehow – had recognised the hurt in him that could not be soothed by her, not yet at least.

She had been one of the best friends of his childhood. Together they had ran all over the town of Aldburg, and played orcs and riders, and caused so much mischief that the old beards of their home were probably still talking about it. Yet at his return he had felt like looking at a stranger when she had welcomed him home... but perhaps it was just him who had changed into a stranger.

Dreda had been willing to wait for him, though... once, when he had drunk too much ale, he had kissed her. It would probably have gone much farther than that had he not passed out. Wonder it was he had never sought her bed, though that was not to say she wasn't attractive, and of all the women in the realm Dreda would have been quite likely the most willing when it came to his attentions. But perhaps even then he had known that bedding her would only have turned her passion into wildfire... and for Dreda, all emotions were raw and fell.

Sometimes, he had looked at her, and he had thought she wouldn't be too bad a wife. She'd have been a dedicated spouse and a mother, and she'd have carried her marriage with pride... perhaps her pride would even have grown too large, especially if she had become the Lady of Aldburg and then Queen. So, when a moment came Éomer considered asking for her hand, he had not felt real enthusiasm for the idea. At first he thought he was just not ready yet for marriage, and it had seemed wrong to start a family when his own life had no guarantee of being too long in the middle of all the battles and war-waging. After a time he began to understand it was also because of Fealu: it was not easy to give away one's heart after what had happened. And settling down with anyone, even with Dreda, had not seemed like an ultimately good idea. He was waiting... for what, he wasn't so sure.

In the end, he was glad that he had waited... for eventually, the Princess from the south had come and made home in his heart.

But he should have known that any woman he'd ever bring to Aldburg to live as his wife would only earn Dreda's fury. He should have seen it all along and done something about it.

And now she was gone, dead and buried just like Fealu... and his love of a friend turned hatred for a deceiver turned regret and pity for a woman who had saved Elric's life.

All the faces of the dead, of friends and enemies, travelled past him as he wandered lost in this tangle of memory and dream. Of reality he remembered a stark pain at the side of his head and the world growing dark, and beyond it was a world hardly remembered. Instead, he walked the paths of years gone by, and goodbyes he told his first love and lives that could have been... until he left them in their graves, and other memories came to him...

Those were memories of a living woman.

"_You arrogant oaf!"_

"_What bloody idiot told you to wear so much?"_

"_I am your wife, my lord. As you promised me your loyalty, so I pledge mine to you."_

"_It's going to be all right."_

"_Excuse me! You're calling me grumpy! You, who should be called the Marshal of Grumpy!" _

"_It would be fine if you just called me by my name."_

"_It's not really so bad as I first thought. Marriage, I mean."_

"_I'm not going anywhere."_

"_I see it now, Éomer. My place is here, with you."_

"_I knew you would find us."_

"_Kiss me hard before you go."_

"_**I love you too, Éomer. I will see you again."**_

_**I will see you again. **_

And he knew where his heart was and the past was gone. Then he gasped for air, and he called for her name.

"Lothíriel!"

* * *

The moment of awakening was painful. For one, he instantly became aware of headache worse than anything he had ever experienced. The next thing he knew that though he was calling for his wife, she was nowhere to be seen, and he remembered she was far away, back in Rohan... but then, as he struggled to get up from his bed, two strong hands appeared as if from nowhere and he was pushed back down.

"It's all right. You're alive. Calm down, my friend", said the gentle and calm voice of Aragorn. Slowly the young king's eyes concentrated and he saw his friend above him.

"Alive? How?" he asked as weakness fell on him again and the headache robbed him of his strength.

"I assume it's at least partly because your helmet. Without it you'd be dead now, of course... and you didn't get the worst of the blow, as you just about managed to jump aside. I don't know if you appreciate the sentiment but what you received was but a touch" - at which Éomer snorted - "It's a good thing you're awake at last – it should mean the worst is over and you'll live. You're a lucky man, my good king", Aragorn explained. "How do you feel? And what do you remember?"

"I remember the battle. I came across this troll..." he answered at length as he recalled the events before he had fallen into a web of memory and dream. As his recollection returned to him and he remembered just what they had fought, he frowned. "The battle... why am I not dead? Why are _you _alive too? Weren't we supposed to die?"

That made his friend smile.

"Oh, we were. And you at least made quite the effort to be killed, which did not amuse myself or great many other people... anyway, all is well and Sauron has fallen. It took place only yesterday, and you've slept ever since. It turned out Halflings were uncaptured after all, and they were able to finish their task. The _mithril _mail we saw was but ruse – we'll hear all about it, no doubt – and as soon as the Ring was cast into the fire the power of the Enemy was ended. We are now in the Fields of Cormallen, where you were brought along with the other injured. Don't worry for the Halflings, though. They were saved from the ruin of Orodruin and are presently asleep. Frodo and Sam will survive", Aragorn said and a brilliant smile graced his features.

_The Enemy was ended... _

"It must be a dream", he said weakly, rubbing his forehead. "We're probably in some dungeon now, or dying on the battle-field, and this is some final dream my mind has conjured to torture me before the end."

"I assure you this is quite real", said the older man gently. "Now, does your head pain you?"

"It does. It feels like an army of Dwarves were hammering at my skull, hoping to find some _mithril _I presume", Éomer answered and grimaced.

"And that is no wonder, considering what blow you took. I'm still amazed you're alive at all", Aragorn said. "Fortunately for you I happen to be in the possession of some _athelas. _After the Battle of Pelennor Fields few healers were sent to look for it, and some has been brought here too."

He quickly prepared the herb that had been crucial in healing Éowyn and Lord Faramir, and soon the fresh scent filled the tent... indeed, only when the refreshing aroma of _athelas _filled his nose and cleared his senses did Éomer pay attention to where he was. It looked a lot like his uncle's tent back in Dunharrow, with furs on the ground and light portable furniture some poor soul had dragged all the way from Béma knew where, and the royal standard was hanging there too. His standard...

"It was indeed a grave blow, and I must still find out if it has somehow affected you. Head injuries are not a light matter", Aragorn said then. He did some things that seemed nonsensical but were probably important, like telling Éomer to follow his lifted finger with his eyes, and pinched the back of his hand and asked him some questions. It seemed random, but the look in the older man's eyes was sharp; obviously they weren't so random questions after all.

Eventually, Aragorn appeared satisfied.

"Your senses seem to be working as they should and your speech is clear as well. I would say you made it with a concussion. We'll have to watch you, however, and I'd have you stay in bed for at least today", he announced at length.

"So you mean to say I'll live?" Éomer asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Oh, you will. It seems you Rohirrim are not the easiest men to kill", said his friend, smiling as he spoke.

"That is quite true", said the King of Rohan. He settled back on the pillows and thought it was actually kind of nice to have proper rest. He didn't really remember when he had last slept soundly and without care. "I suppose Éothain is out there, thinking of all the ways he's going to murder me for almost getting myself killed?"

"He has been quite worried, yes. He sat through the night with you – wouldn't even agree to go and get changed into something not stained with orc-blood until couple of hours ago. Poor fellow said he has lost ten years of his life because of you", Aragorn said, his voice turning softer. "And it's not just him who was concerned. Ever since last night, Rohirrim have come and gone, asking about you. They wouldn't even participate feasting yesterday. Your men love you, Éomer."

"Hmm. Can't imagine why, especially now that I've robbed them of a good cause of celebration", commented the young king wryly, though it did touch him to know that he was already so accepted by his men as Théoden's successor. Béma be kind! If Éothain didn't murder him, then Éowyn would... or Lothíriel. In fact, they might even do it together. "What of others? Your friends Legolas and Gimli and Holbytla Peregrin? And Imrahil and Amrothos?"

"Oh, they're all quite fine. Your brother-in-law took an arrow to his arm but he'll soon be hale as ever. He has been telling everyone you're not going to die. I imagine he'll be happy to know he was right", said Aragorn. He smiled then, "As for Imrahil, he said he'd be very unhappy if you made his daughter a widow at such a young age. He even threatened invading Rohan if you die. Apparently he and Amrothos are a father and a son, after all."

That made Éomer chuckle softly, though sudden movement did nothing for his headache.

"We can't have that. I have a feeling Lothíriel might take up a sword against him herself, if he invaded... a proper woman of the Mark, she is..." he murmured sleepily. The scent of _athelas _had soothed his headache and he felt drowsy now – perhaps this blessed herb would even take him to a place where he might have untroubled dreams, preferably of his wife.

"Don't fall asleep quite yet. Éothain would probably want to speak with you", Aragorn insisted, pinching his friend's hand again.

"Ouch! Didn't you already confirm I was fine?" exclaimed the Rohir. The dark-haired man grinned.

"Just making sure, brother", he said unaffectedly, making for the door. The King of Rohan grumbled.

"Hmph. If you do that again, I'll pinch you back. With Gúthwinë, I might add."

* * *

On a day of early April the word came from Gondor.

Lothíriel had been outside on the plains with Elfhild and Elric, watching as the boy played in tall grass with his foal. It was good to see her husband's son dashing about so carefree, laughing as he chased Grægmanu or the foal chased him back. Elfhild looked like she'd have liked to join this game but Lothíriel and Ceola made sure the little one didn't get too close. After all, she was still very small, and the foal might not understand she couldn't quite handle some of his rougher manners like Elric did.

It was Hrodgar who spotted the rider speeding from east. He had been very quiet lately, and very grave, but he never really disappeared too far. Moreover, there was no place for reproach when it came to behaviour: to the Queen he was ever polite and respectful, and the children he treated with the same care as always.

"My lady. A rider is coming", he said now quietly, nodding his head towards the speeding shape of the man and a horse.

"Could he be from Mundburg?" Ceola asked. A rider from east could mean many things – he might be just a messenger sent by Oferlof from Aldburg.

"I'm sure we'll hear in a moment", Lothíriel answered. "Perhaps we should turn back and find out?"

Elric wasn't too happy to return yet, but he followed nonetheless, his foal loyally by his side. Horses and guards were waiting a little way towards the town, but they couldn't make fast way with Elfhild – who had decided walking was the best thing one could possibly do and refused to be carried – and Hrodgar's limp.

Lothíriel had thought they'd hear the news when they got up to Meduseld, but it was quite clearly something important... for when they had reached the horses and were about to mount, another rider came speeding towards them from town.

She froze where she was, staring at the man making his way towards them. If the matter couldn't wait it could only be a grave thing, and instantly she thought she was about to hear yet another death message. _Éomer had died, and she was a widow now... and the Enemy had won and it was only a matter of time before the shadow spread here... _

"My lady!" called the rider when he spotted her. "There are tidings from Mundburg!"

"What is it? Is the King well?" Lothíriel asked in concern. For one moment longer than life she feared the worst.

But then the rider's face broke into a large grin.

"Be glad, Lothíriel Queen! The war has ended and the King of Rohan sends you his regards!"

Afterwards, it was reported that Lothíriel Queen had been seen dancing on the fields of Edoras, singing and laughing and crying until she fell into River Snowbourne.

And even then she wouldn't stop laughing.

* * *

Once she had calmed down and changed into a dry gown, Lothíriel Queen of Rohan sat down to hear the full report of the messenger her husband had sent. The man was survivors of the Battle of Morannon, and he described the developments that had lead into the decision to challenge Sauron. A wondrous tale it was, but it ended in great joy: for war was ended and Enemy defeated, and Éomer and Amrothos had made it with but a scratch. Her father and brother Elphir had made it through war as well, and for a long time Lothíriel could but hug Elfhild and Elric and listen to the song in her heart.

She'd see _him _again, he'd come home, and they would have many years of life and sun.

When Lothíriel was starting to feel like she might not burst into laughter again, she cast a look at Lord Erkenbrand, who had been listening to the tidings as well and looked equally relieved to receive this glad thing.

"My lord, do you think you could spare some men for an escort?" she asked.

"I believe so, yes, if Master Oferlof would lend a few. Are you planning on travelling somewhere, my Queen?" he asked.

"I am. We are going to travel to Mundburg", she announced lightly.

"We?" asked Erkenbrand with slight widening of his eyes.

"Aye. I'm going to take the children along as well. It would be a good opportunity to unite the families, because not only my lord husband is going to be in the White City, but also Lady Éowyn, and my Gondorian kin. It's been ages since I last saw them, and Elfhild has only met my father and Amrothos", she said, already going through all the things that would have to be prepared for the journey.

"I can come too?" Elric asked excitedly.

"Of course. You've always wanted to see Mundburg, haven't you? And your father would like it as well, I think. I believe having us close after what he has gone through is just so much more important", Lothíriel answered.

"What about me? Do I get to come too?" Elswite put in.

"I did say it's an opportunity to unite the families, didn't I?" Lothíriel asked back. Her sister-in-law squealed in enthusiasm and hugged Hrodgar, who looked more than just a little bemused.

"Well, I do think the Queen has it right that Éomer King would like to see his family..." allowed Metodlác, casting a look at Erkenbrand.

"You better find those men for the escort", said Scýne, who was present as well. "Our Lady Queen can be rather stubborn, especially when it comes to her family."

"Isn't that what the Rohirrim do?" Lothíriel asked her friend and the two exchanged a smile. She cast a look about the people around her. "Well, get to work! We'll have to move swiftly if this thing is going to happen. I'd like us to get to Minas Tirith before the year has ended."

It was only later when the preparations were already moving forward in full speed that Hrodgar awkwardly approached the young queen. Seeing there was something on his mind, she looked up from a letter the messenger had brought from Éomer; she had been re-reading it and just seeing his strong angular penmanship made her feel like he was close. But now Hrodgar's presence distracted her and she folded the letter to return to it later.

"What is it, Hrodgar?" she asked.

"I was wondering whether my Queen wants me to accompany her to Mundburg", he said quietly.

"Of course. For one, I don't think you'd be too happy here all alone, with Elfhild and Elric gone... and I think you should see Minas Tirith at least once in your life", she answered. Somehow she had just automatically expected Hrodgar would come along, but she understood now he was still worrying she didn't trust him anymore like before.

"Hrm. I'm not too fond of travel either", he grumbled.

"Of course not. But of all the people I think I can handle your complaints the best, and I'm convinced Metodlác still expects to one day wake up as a frog", Lothíriel said and gave the old man a smile. But then her mood turned more serious and she gave him a steady look. "And I was thinking it would be a chance for you to tell my husband what you told me. It's not something I'd keep from him... even though I can't promise he'll not be angry with you."

"Queen, if I feared his reaction I would never have told you the truth in the first place. I understand the King must know and it was always my intention to tell him as well as I told you", he said quietly. "I do not think he'll be as forgiving as you."

Sad as that made her feel, Lothíriel couldn't but agree. Éomer would most likely make his own judgement, as was his right as the King, and she knew she couldn't blame him for it. And if she knew her husband at all, it was fairly probable that Hrodgar would receive some punishment.

"You will be all right?" she asked softly, and something that resembled a smile touched Hrodgar's face, though his eyes were sad.

"Don't worry about me, my lady. I can weather many things terrible... even the wrath of the King, if that is what it comes to", he answered and a rare gentle tone came to his voice. But then the familiar surly look came to his face.

"In Mundburg I'll be expected to deal with _people", _said the soothsayer with a cringe.

"You deal with people just fine most of the time, and if you want, you could spend all your time exploring the archives or maybe talk with the healers. Have you already learned to read Westron?" she asked, trying for a lighter tone.

"How did you know I've been practising?" he asked and seemed even surprised.

"I've seen you examining some of the books I brought with me from Gondor", Lothíriel answered, feeling childish triumph at catching him unawares.

"I'm not fluent yet", he admitted, though it seemed to her he took much pride in his self-aqcuired literacy. "How far back do these archives go, my lady?"

"To the founding of Gondor and beyond, they say", said the young queen, and the look of pleasure on Hrodgar's face assured her that though he might complain he'd not skip this journey.

* * *

All was ready in two days, and the escort of the Queen of Rohan departed from Edoras. They were travelling as lightly as they could, but with consideration for the children coming along. As the weather continued temperate and sunny and both Elric and Elfhild were warmly clothed, the journey should not result in a cold for either of them. The escort consisted of few of the best riders who had stayed behind, and so even the transportation of the little Princess Elfhild did not prove a problem. And anyway, the little one seemed to like riding very much.

"Well, she's a daughter of a horselord", Lothíriel said to Hrodgar. "What did you expect?"

"Hrm. I should say it's because this is not her first time on the back of a horse. I did familiarise her with the concept when we were on the run", he muttered.

"Good of you to remind me. Those people you stayed with have yet to receive proper thanks for their help", said the young queen. The old man made a non-committal sound and went back to brooding. He hadn't lied when he had said he didn't like travel.

Elswite too carried Elfhild with her sometimes. She was an excellent rider, reportedly the best in the Hornburg, and had no problem in keeping the child close and safe.

"My father taught me and my brother Ethelred. I don't think my brother ever really forgave me for being better than him", Elswite said and smiled.

"Now there is something for the Gondorian courts to ponder on", Lothíriel commented lightly. But then this conversation about riding made her think of their current way of travel. Both she and Elswite were wearing leggings and riding astride in the manner of Eorlingas. That would be not received too well once they reached the White City and she made a mental note of having to see if some of her old split skirts were still to be found in Aldburg, where they'd stop for one night. She hadn't even stopped to think of using a side-saddle.

"Speaking of them, I should advise you to prepare for close scrutiny once we arrive in Minas Tirith. Aside from Éowyn, the society there has probably never seen a Rohirric lady... and they will also be dying to see the woman who would so catch the eye of Prince Amrothos that he'd marry her", she continued. Her words evidently troubled Elswite, as her expression became slightly worried.

"Oh, Béma be merciful", she said weakly.

"Don't worry. We have a long journey ahead of ourselves still, so there'll be plenty of time for me to explain what you should expect. And you'll be in good hands once you meet my sisters-in-law Aredhel and Fainien", Lothíriel comforted the younger woman.

Indeed, much of the journey was spent in talking about court etiquette, and most of the time Elswite looked like she thought Gondorians quite insane.

As planned they stopped for a night in Aldburg. It was strange to be back in town, especially when Lothíriel remembered the circumstances of her departure. The King had lived, as had his son... Éomer had been Marshal and she had expected her second child.

One would have thought to find Aldburg somehow changed, but when Lothíriel rode with her escort through the town, everything was as she remembered. The great events had not altered this place. People came and went as they always had, though now the escort passing by would have them halting, and at last she saw the change: it was in their faces when they looked at her. She had left a Princess and now returned the Queen.

Bierwén was there when they arrived to the courtyard of the Marshal's Hall. She was in tears as she rushed to hug the young woman who had been her mistress for almost two years. Only in the middle of it did she remember what had changed; she took a step back and curtsied.

"My Queen", she said, almost sounding like she was talking to someone she had never seen before.

"At ease, my friend. I'm the same old Lothíriel still", said the Queen and smiled. Bierwén answered it and brushed tears from her eyes.

"Of course. It is just a lot to take in, you see... even if one always knew that there was more in store for you than this town. Yet I'd have kept you here in Aldburg at least little while more", Bierwén said fondly. "We have missed you, though I suppose that is something we'll have to get used to now."

"I have missed you as well", Lothíriel said quietly. She felt tears in her own eyes too, and it was now her turn to hug Bierwén. This smiling woman had been an irreplaceable guide during her first year in Rohan, and only now did she understand how much she had depended on Bierwén's experience and guidance.

When she pulled back, Oferlof approached them too. He bowed as a sign of respect.

"Lady Queen", he greeted her. "It is good to have you back, if only for a while."

"We'd stay for few days, but the road is long and I'd like us to get to Mundburg as soon as possible. Perhaps we'll fix that once we return with the King", she answered. "I trust all is well in Aldburg?"

"Things go as they may. It is quiet, with so many a man in the war, but we go on best as we can", he answered in a low voice. He sported an expression that almost had one thinking the war had not yet ended... but then, Oferlof usually did seem like he was worried about something.

Bierwén spoke then, "Perhaps you would like some supper, my lady?"

"My escort would no doubt appreciate it, but I'd like to see Eadmod first. I've been away too long", Lothíriel said. Indeed, it felt such a long time since she had last spoken with her husband's grandmother. She searched the chatelaine's face, "How fares she?"

"She has been in low spirits lately. She misses her family, of course... but your request for her to come and stay with the rest of the family in Edoras cheered her up at least", answered Bierwén.

"Good. I've felt so bad for leaving her behind – she ought to be with us in Edoras", said the Queen. Elswite came with Elfhild then and handed the little one to her mother. Bierwén smiled at the child.

"I swear, she has grown so much since I last saw her", she said and kissed the brow of the little princess. "Eadmod will be glad that she's here too."

"Aye", Lothíriel agreed, smiling softly. She cast a glance back, "Elric! Come along – let us go and greet Grandmother."

Elric hurried to her side and the three made their way inside.

Grandmother Eadmod was sat at her usual place by the window, her unseeing eyes half open and looking like she was somewhere far away. But their steps alarmed her and she turned her face towards the door, more out of habit than really expecting to see anything.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"Grandmother!" Elric exclaimed, evidently unable to hold back himself at the sight of the old woman.

"Elric, my dear boy! Is Elfhild here too, and Lothíriel?" Eadmod cried out, spreading her arms towards her long-awaited guests.

"We're here!" Lothíriel answered, and happy tears filled her eyes; oh, how she had missed this precious old woman!

A long while was spent in the middle of hugs and kisses. Eadmod looked positively blissful and she wouldn't let go of Elric and Elfhild. The two children were beaming too, both chatting away at the same time and somehow Eadmod found time to answer each one of them – even making sense of Elfhild's broken sentences and words. Lothíriel herself could but watch this happy reunion and pat her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Oh, what a happy day this is! The only way it could be better was if Éomer and Éowyn were here too", Eadmod sighed when at last the emotions had calmed down a bit. Elric sat nearby, still grinning, and Elfhild was nestled in the crook of Eadmod's arm. Lothíriel herself sat next to the old woman.

"Don't worry, Grandmother. Once we return from Gondor, we will take a proper stop here in Aldburg. I should think everything will be arranged then, and you can travel with us to Edoras. I think you'll like your rooms", said the young queen and patted Eadmod's arm.

"Of course. I can already tell you I will never learn my way around in Meduseld now, but this time all of you have been away has been quite enough for me, and I certainly won't agree to stay here again wondering when and if I might have my dear ones close", Eadmod said and her face betrayed the concern and longing she had felt during the absence of her grandson's family.

"If you think we should stay-" Lothíriel said quickly, but the old woman lifted her hand in refusal.

"No, no. You should go, sweetheart. There is much to see and much to celebrate in Mundburg, and you shouldn't stay back just because of some old blind bat", she said firmly. She smiled then, "And I'm sure Éowyn and Éomer are anxious to see you all again, after all they have gone through."

She fell silent for a moment and settled back more comfortably in her chair, slowly weaving her fingers through Elfhild's hair. The little one was starting to look rather sleepy.

Eadmod continued then, "I was rather sad that Éomer couldn't come here and tell goodbyes before he left. But of course he has far greater concerns now. My grandson, the King! When Bierwén told me, I wouldn't at first believe it – I thought she was playing some prank on me, especially when she told me about little Éowyn's deeds and valour... oh, if only Éomund had lived to see this day. You wouldn't find a father more proud in all the kingdoms of West."

"And we're just as proud for them both. I think Éomer will make a great king, seeing how he's so concerned with the well-being those under his protection... and to be honest, if I was expected to be the Queen on anyone else's side, I'd very seriously consider running into the wild and never returning", Lothíriel said. Her words made Eadmod laugh but when she spoke there was no playfulness in her voice.

"I'd have you trust in yourself too, my dear. You will do fine", she told the younger woman. She then assumed a sharper look, "Now, have you travellers even had any supper yet? Not to mention I am fairly certain Elric and Elfhild should head to bed, as you have such a long way ahead of yourselves still."

"Oh, you're quite right. I should see these two fed and in bed", Lothíriel said, picking up her daughter from Eadmod's side. "I'll come and talk with you more once we're ready. There is much still I ought to tell you."

Indeed, once Elric and Elfhild were both safely in their beds, the Queen returned to Eadmod's chamber. Usually the old woman went to sleep early, but this night she stayed up late into the night as the two women spoke of all that had happened lately... and somehow, when Lothíriel herself made her way to the old chamber that would not serve as her home any more, she felt like she had left behind some weight of the things that had troubled her.

* * *

The way to Minas Tirith was long and uneventful. In the borderlands they only saw a small and hungry band of orcs, but the escort quickly finished them, and Elric too slew one – though his wide-eyed look implied he was rather surprised to have succeeded in the first place.

Aside from this little disturbance, the travel was made in peace, and they stayed in villages on the way where they could. Elric was obviously very excited about getting to travel like this, and even Elfhild was unexpectedly non-fussy. Truly she endured the travel like a true daughter of Rohan.

Odd it was to sometimes stop and think this was the first time in two years she was travelling to Gondor. The last time Lothíriel had been in Minas Tirith it had been as a scared, unhappy bride for a strange and wild man from the North. How much things had changed since then! Now she was returning a mother and a Queen and a woman who loved the man she had married. And she'd see Father and her brothers and sisters-in-law, and perhaps for a little while it would almost be like back in Dol Amroth when she had been younger and carefree.

Days were spent riding and nights by the camp fire, telling stories and speaking of all things imaginable, and there were moments Lothíriel wished Éomer could have been there too. But then, similar moments were no doubt in store for their journey home – only things would be on different scale altogether since he was now the King.

_Éomer King. _It was a road she had not expected their lives to take, but somehow it had started to make sense. Granted, she had been quite worried in the beginning about this all, and there were still times she worried whether she might even make a proper queen... but then, thinking of her dutiful, brave husband she knew he'd be a good king, and perhaps at his side it wouldn't be too bad to be a queen.

So they travelled, until at last on the second day of May, two years after Lothíriel had last seen this place, they at last sighted Minas Tirith –the City of Kings.

* * *

Ever since their return to the City, it had become a daily routine for the two kings of western realms to share breakfast together in Aragorn's private chambers. As the days were full of reunions with friends or all kinds of social gatherings and feasts and other such things that usually called in crowds, it turned out morning was really the only time they could converse in peace and quiet. And certainly there was much to talk about and the ordering of their kingdoms after the war was not the least of them.

These mornings could grow long, though; the passing of time would be of little consequence as the day grew outside. Sometimes, the two would get so inspired that the table would fill with parchments on which they scribbled and drafted their ideas, and no doubt servants despaired when they found pens in glasses and bowls, and hoped that the King of Rohan might leave soon.

But this morning had come by in more relaxed conversations. It was good to just _be, _without any hurry to some battle-field or to deal with some other little catastrophe. At least for Éomer it was difficult to remember when he had last been able to afford such leisure... though now that war was over, each day in his heart grew a wish to go home. He could think of that later, though: for the moment he was leaning back in his chair, and a gentle breath from outside gently swayed the curtains and carried soft noises of the Citadel.

"So, how are you getting used to this king business?" asked Aragorn when they were half-way through their breakfast.

"I am... adjusting. That's really all I can say. There's still moments I don't even realise it's me they're addressing to when someone calls me the King... half the time, I expect to hear Uncle answering", said the younger man. He couldn't help but cringe in discomfort. It was kind of foolish, to be honest... he was, after all, used to giving orders and having people rely on him to figure out what to do.

But now it was an entire realm that expected him to have all the answers.

"I know that feeling. Last evening, I actually very seriously considered the benefits of donning on my old Ranger's clothes and slipping away during the night", said his friend with a smile. It made Éomer chuckle.

"Brother, if you did that, I believe all of Minas Tirith would come looking for you – and Faramir would quite likely ask myself and my riders to come along as well. Fast as you are, I do not believe even you could outrun Firefoot", he said.

"Pity. I was thinking of asking if you had some nice dark cave in the North I could hide in until they find someone else to carry the crown", Aragorn said lightly. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "Say, now that you're the Lord of the Mark, would you like to be the King of Arnor and Gondor as well?"

"You can't make me", said the younger man with mock horror, and his friend grinned.

"Just checking", Elessar chortled.

"I just might inform Imrahil and Faramir that you harbour such ideas. They'll lock you up in your chambers, though", Éomer informed his friend. Aragorn laughed but when he fell silent and considered his tea-cup, probably more precious than anything he had ever owned as a Ranger (aside from the Ring of Barahir and Andúril), and Éomer could tell beyond these jokes his friend did share that concern about being a good ruler. He considered telling Aragorn that he was the last man who should worry about being good enough, but then it would just have been the same as when he had shared a very similar moment with Éothain. Only, his captain had been the one to reassure him... and all the words of comfort had not been really able to take away his concerns.

"I was wondering", Aragorn spoke up then after a moment of companionable silence, "how is your sister doing? To me she seems to be faring very well, but I'd have your opinion. You are her brother after all."

"Éowyn is remarkably well. I haven't seen her in such good cheer in quite some time. Years, even. I am relieved, brother... when we left for the Black Gate, I had no idea of how I should help her to overcome her despair", answered the younger king at length. He toyed with the foot of his glass and couldn't help a bittersweet smile, "It seems she's thinking of leaving Rohan. I gather she and Faramir already have an understanding. I can't say I'm overjoyed about the idea of letting her leave us, but if that's what makes her happy..."

"I do not suppose it is because she might take a sword to you if you tried to tell her no?" Aragorn remarked lightly, which made Éomer chuckle.

"Oh, she would. Éowyn would no doubt chase me all the way back to the Mark if I tried to prevent her from doing what she truly desires. But I already told her I'm not going to stand in her way. She more than deserves to have her own happiness", he said softly. He smiled then, "You know, Faramir visited Rohan last year, along with his late brother. One night there was some jesting talk about sending the two brothers home with Rohirric brides... I believe Faramir and Éowyn were mentioned in the same sentence. I wonder, what would have happened if they had been introduced then?"

"That is a good question, and one I find I wouldn't ponder too much on. That Éowyn fought in this war, and met Faramir here..." Aragorn said, his voice trailing off.

"Aye. Fates seem to have been at work, on more than just one battle-field", agreed the Rohir.

He would have continued... but then the noises from outside distracted him; ever the horseman, he listened attentively when he heard the noises of horses and riders.

And then came a woman's voice.

_"No, Elric! You're not going to go and seek your father all by yourself! You'll get lost and Elfhild will have grown old and grey before we find you again!"_

Éomer was on his feet before he could think of it. Judging by his smile, Aragorn too had heard these noises and knew whose arrival they signalled.

"Go to them, brother", he said gently. The younger king flashed a large grin, and then he ran.

He did not know if he had ever really run the way he did then, but he did not care, for his wife and children were evidently here, and how many nights had he spent wishing he might see them soon? On his way he knocked over one guard and a servant carrying a tray of food, and probably there would be some remarks about the unkingly behaviour of the Lord of the Mark, but his main concern was of getting outside as soon as he could...

… until at last he arrived to that great hall from which one would exit to the Court of Fountain, and at the other end of it he saw them: Lothíriel and Elric and Elfhild and all three beaming like sunrise when they spotted him.

"Éomer!" Lothíriel exclaimed and her voice echoed in the vaults, mixing with Elfhild's _"Faer! Faer!" _but he couldn't answer for his voice had betrayed him...

And at last he met them there, in the middle of the hall, and he caught all three in his embrace like he had wanted to ever since waking up in the Fields of Cormallen... he was vaguely aware of the tears running down his face, but they were tears of happiness, and somehow it was only now that he understood the full meaning of the fact that he'd get to go home and live many many years in peace with these three around him...

"My King", breathed Lothíriel, and she was crying too, holding on to him and Elfhild and she'd probably have tried to grab Elric too if there was any more space in her arms, "My husband. My love."

In that one instance larger than life, when he had with him something he loved beyond anything in the world, Éomer of Rohan truly felt like King.

* * *

**A/N: **Here's a new chapter! Knowing you guys were anxious to get more I sat up late last night to get this done, and here it is for you to read. I'm sure you're all relieved that Éomer is well and reunited with his family. I know, it would have been quite a plot twist to kill him but I fear more than just one reader would have come after my hide if I had actually gone that road. :D

This seemed like a good place for me to show some of Éomer's thoughts considering his thoughts and feelings towards Fealu and Dreda. But it is also of him saying goodbye to them for good, and leaving the past behind to make way for future. I also wanted him to have few moments with Aragorn; I really like their friendship in the books and hope more of it had been shown in the movies. It's not really based on any textual evidence but I have this head canon they love to tease each other.

We'll probably tarry in Minas Tirith for couple of chapters at least, as I'd rather like to write about all the merrymaking and feasting after the war. From the timeline's point of view it should be noted that I diverge from the canon in that the Host of the West has returned to Minas Tirith a bit earlier than in the book canon. In the book Éomer and the Rohirrim stayed in Minas Tirith for 8 days after their return from the Fields of Cormallen, but in this piece the time they spend in the city is a week or so longer.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Kiiimberly - **Hope this makes up for the last chapter's closing! :)

**Sandy-wmd - **Well, he's quite fine, so no worries. I too thought it'd be more like Lothíriel to deal with Hrodgar the way she did.

**Ranger - **Well, you certainly have quite a cynical idea of Hrodgar, and kind of black-and-white as well in my opinion.

He's not the best of men for sure, but neither is he just plainly scumbag. He stands in grey areas of good and evil, and this has been the idea of the character from the beginning. Though his background is certainly vague all the bits that are given in my opinion should emphasise that for a long time he has had no reason not to think that people are not kind and even less they are kind to someone like _him. _But his whole relationship with Lothíriel is based on the idea that sometimes someone can come along and change how you view the world, and as a result you can become a better person. I am not sorry or afraid to admit that I believe in mercy and the idea that people can change for the better. This is what Tolkien himself supports in his books: he shows that great men have darkness in them and dark men can have goodness too, and even someone as wretched as Gollum could repent given the chance. To quote the Master himself: "For to him that is pitiless the deeds of pity are ever strange and beyond reckoning."

Moreover, I do not believe in the notion that people are undisputedly good or bad, or that people who have done bad things can't sometimes have the best of intentions. And if Hrodgar truly _was_ the scumbag you make out of him, he'd not have said anything at all. Indeed, your approach robs him and the story of any moral and character complexity they might otherwise have.

In addition it is unkind in my opinion to think Hrodgar's confession was made to someone who was pushover or that he should have waited for Éomer to really be considered honest. Lothíriel does have more reason to be merciful, yes, but she was the first one to hear of it because in Hrodgar's mind she's the one who deserves it the most. And is the story ended yet? It doesn't seem so to me. Hrodgar's tale is still not quite finished.

**Shango Sanguine - **Yes, all that has happened to him ever since coming to Lothíriel's service has convinced him that he has to be honest with her. The man has travelled quite a road since we first saw him.

**meredithe - **Thank you for your kind words, and I'm really glad you like the story so much! I hope with this new chapter the story continues to please you. As for myself, I'm an unfaltering Éomer/Lothíriel supporter, which is probably quite clear by now. :D I'm silly enough to not even be able to read Éomer/OC stories.

**Talia119 - **You can breathe now again! Éomer is quite fine and all appears to be well.

**Mellon - **Well, the last years of the Third Age are not really calm ones for anyone with warrior's trade. But perhaps that is about to change now that Sauron is ended. As for what he'll say to Hrodgar's confession will have to wait for a bit.

**ladymoonscar - **Hope this makes up for the cliffhanger I ended the last chapter with!


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

The soft light of a May afternoon tickled her face and brought Lothíriel back to the waking world. After yesterday's reunions several different parties had apparently decided that the King and Queen of Rohan were in the need of some time alone: a tray of food had appeared on the morrow and Éomer had fetched it with the result of some very unroyal dining in bed, but no servants had appeared since then and there wasn't even a sign of Elfhild (who was in the safe care of Fainien and Ceola at the moment). So, to their great appreciation Lothíriel and Éomer had been effectively left to their own devices for the day.

Quietly, she drifted back from dreams, her sleepy mind filling with idle thoughts that came and went at will. She thought of her husband's familiar musky scent, how it mixed with his soap; there wasn't even that usual hint of leather, which proved his battles of late had been fought in a table of negotiations and perhaps on a dance floor.

_Poor man. _No doubt he had been besieged here by the noble ladies like a pot of honey. Even if he hadn't been a handsome young man he _was _a king. That had her smiling to herself as she remembered how Éowyn had yesterday informed her it was a good thing the Queen was now here to guard the King from his admirers, though she had also suspected even that might not be enough. It must have been quite a change for him after all the troubles and war-waging of late... but then the thought of war brought back the memory of all the fear and doubt she had felt, how she had spent nights awake thinking he might not come back alive. It made her shiver and an unhappy moan escaped her lips before she could swallow it.

Éomer noticed of course, and asked: "Is all well?"

"Mm. I'm fine. I was just remembering the war", she answered softly and snuggled closer to his warm body. He was there, alive and well, and he'd come home. Last night, she had slept more soundly than ever since his departure... though her restful sleep was ultimately for several reasons actually.

"Dearest, you think of strangest things in bed", he told her, which made her snort.

"Watch it, O Lord of the Mark", she said.

"Or you'll do what?" he asked, humour glinting in his eyes. It was good to see him so at ease, especially when she remembered how tense he had often been in the days that now seemed long past.

"Just you wait. I can be extremely ingenious when coming up with ways to punish you", she informed him.

"I do not doubt it. I've lived long enough with you and your wicked mind", he murmured into the side of her face as he nuzzled her earlobe. His beard tickled her skin and it made her laugh, and she rolled on the top of him.

"Tickling is forbidden", Lothíriel announced, laying her chin on her crossed arms which she rested on his chest, "unless I'm the one doing it."

"Naturally", he snorted as he ran his fingers across her side, back and forth. He watched her with half-open eyes, and in the depths of his dark eyes something moved.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked, reaching to brush hair from his face.

"Just wondering whether I'm dreaming. It seems too good, that you'd be here. All of this... half the time, I expect to wake up and find myself on some distant battle-field, and there's no hope left... I remember how much I feared I wouldn't see you and the children again. Yet now things have been made right, and soon we can go home", he spoke slowly, his voice low and thoughtful.

"Go home and have peace", she murmured. "You'll be the king... and I'll be your queen. We'll have more children, and see them grow, and live many years in sun."

Éomer smiled at that.

"Aye. Do you see what I mean? It's like a dream", he said softly, resting his hands on her waist.

"It is", she agreed and leaned down to kiss him.

"It's more than just a dream. It's all that I ever hoped for, and more", he said. "Well, not the king part. That was a surprise."

He kissed her then and frowned, but didn't look unhappy. He said, "You were a surprise too."

Lothíriel smiled.

"Just as you were to me, my dearest King", she said and leaned closer to kiss him. It was a long, tender kiss – nothing like the mad passion that had consumed them last night as soon as the door of the bedchamber was closed.

When she pulled back, she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"Do you think they might forget about us for today if we stay in the bed until evening?" she asked.

"I fear the King and Queen of Rohan can't go unnoticed like that", he answered.

"Hmm. Elfhild is probably wondering already if someone has stolen her parents. And someone should keep an eye on Elric, lest he get himself in trouble", she mused, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You fussy", he murmured, seeking the lines of her body in a way that was starting to make her feel excited.

"I'll show you fussy!" she announced and then kissed him long and hard.

Unsurprisingly, it took couple hours still before they could get out of bed.

* * *

Lothíriel supposed the dining hall in the Steward's House had not been so full of people ever since the death of her aunt, Lady Finduilas. Really, the furniture had a shining look of being only very recently polished, and she judged this meant the hall had been taken back into use just for this occasion. Uncle Denethor, now dead as so many others, had not been a man for socialising, not even in his youth. Mostly he had organised gatherings in his house to please his young wife. After her death it had become most unnecessary.

The news of Denethor's death had made her feel strangely quiet and still, and she had remembered the last time she had seen him... two years ago, Uncle had decided she'd marry a man of Rohan. All her life he had been a distant figure and she couldn't say she had known him, but Lothíriel found she was thankful for the path he had set her on.

And now her Gondorian and Rohirric families were gathered in this hall, sharing an extended dinner you could only ever expect from high nobles of Faramir's standing. When they had first sat down, Éomer had stared in confusion at the numerous spoons and forks laid before him. The poor man was not used to finesse like this, and she had whispered him advice from the corner of her mouth. He had muttered to himself in Rohirric something about insane southerners, but he did seem to enjoy the dishes servants set on the front of him during the meal.

In addition to two of them, the dining hall hosted Faramir himself with Éowyn by his side, and the two of them looked like they shared some great secret – in other words, they looked like two people quite helplessly in love. Elphir and Aredhel were there too, along with little Alphros, and Erchirion sat with Fainien who was expecting their first child. Amrothos sat with Elswite, and the two of them often glanced at each other: Elswite for strength at the face of the loss of her brother and cousin, and Amrothos to offer what comfort he could. Father was evidently quite occupied by Elfhild, and Elric observed the scene with the wide eyes of someone who had fallen asleep in the forest and woken up in the middle of a feast of Elves.

Briefly, the Queen considered the youngest of her three brothers and his wife. Éomer had told her of the deaths of Ethelred and Dúnhere (and he had yet the heavy duty of delivering the news to Erkenbrand and Léoma), and she had worried how Elswite was doing. But evidently Amrothos had made admirable job of caring for his young wife... and when they had joined the company at Faramir's house, Elswite had given Lothíriel a sad little smile: "You have adjusted well to the life of Rohirrim, sister. But when it comes to death and the way we regard it, you still have some things to learn. Life and love are the antidote, and Ethelred would not tell me to sit back to mourn him – not now, when the war is ended and future holds such promise."

There was really nothing she could say to that, and she had hugged her sister-in-law tight.

She was distracted from these thoughts when Amrothos cleared his throat and tinkled his glass with a knife.

"If I could have your attention for a bit, ladies and kings and queen and so on", he began.

"Is Elessar hiding here somewhere? I thought Éomer here was the only king present", Erchirion put in.

"Shut up, brother", Amrothos scoffed at him and tinkled the glass again. "So, as I was about to say here before insolent fellow over there thought his opinions would be appreciated, I have an announcement to make."

All eyes were on him now and the company had fallen silent – even Alphros and Elfhild had quieted down to listen to their uncle. Amrothos smiled briefly at his young wife and then looked about the faces of his family.

"I know this matter has been under some conversation lately, and we – Elswite and I – thought we should perhaps clear out everything for good. That is, of course, the question of where we will settle down now that the war is ended. I don't know if everyone here knows but our Rohirric King here has offered me a place among his trusted men. His proposition is that I become a Marshal, either in succession to Lord Erkenbrand who is of course my father-in-law, or perhaps in some other part of Rohan. Our other alternative is to stay in Gondor and serve in what way Father and King Elessar see fit", he continued.

"Tell us everything already! You've kept us in the dark long enough!" Fainien chimed in.

"You too, Fainien? I swear, you're as bad as Erchirion", Amrothos grumbled. He went on, "Anyway, after some consideration we have decided that, if Éomer's offer still stands, we will settle in North. My Elswite here is not cut for the idle life of a Gondorian lady, and I believe her children should inherit the old seat of her fathers anyway, if Erkenbrand himself agrees."

Lothíriel would have let out a delighted little squeal, but the more urgent thing was seeing what their father thought; hers and all other eyes too in the hall were turned towards Imrahil. She at first thought she'd see rejection on his face and that he'd attempt to make Amrothos and Elswite stay. However, he smiled. But it was a sad smile and resigned.

"I did expect this, my son, ever since I spoke with our friend the King here. Like I told him then I do think perhaps you'd find a more fulfilling life in North, especially considering what a responsible position Éomer plans to give you. As a father I grieve every child that I send away, but that same heart of a parent would want to see every one of you happy and living a full life – just as I am proud to hear that my son is so trusted by the new King of Rohan. If this is what you truly want, Amrothos, then I wish you all the very best", he said at length, and then regarded Elswite, "And to you as well, daughter. I hope your road together is that of love and light."

Amrothos smiled brilliantly and Elswite looked touched, patting the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. The young Queen of Rohan understood it was more than just what Father had said; in those words, there had been an acceptance and an acknowledgement that Elswite was a part of the family.

"Thank you, Father. It means a lot, that we can go with your blessing", said the youngest of three sons of Imrahil. He looked at his Rohirric brother-in-law, "After this talk, I do seriously hope your offer still stands."

The young king smiled.

"Of course it does. You're most welcome in Rohan – and I would imagine Erkenbrand and Léoma will be happy to hear you're not going to take their daughter away into strange lands of South", he answered.

"I happen to be from those strange lands", Lothíriel reminded him, which Éomer answered with a charming smile.

"Oh, I know. I speak with the voice of experience", he told her, which seemed to amuse everyone present very much.

"Hmph. As if a horselord had any right to be talking!" she said with mock offence, but couldn't help but smile at him... and at the way his eyes were so full of light.

The atmosphere that evening was warm and familial, and as the young queen looked about herself she felt a touch of bittersweet: they were together now, but soon their roads would take them different directions. Her brothers, except for Amrothos along with Elswite, would return home with their wives... Father would probably stay in Minas Tirith to help out with the rebuilding, and Éowyn would return to the Mark only for a little while before she'd wed Faramir.

But then a large, calloused hand covered hers, and she turned to look at the man beside her. There was a faint smile, gentle and understanding, on Éomer's face. She answered that smile to signal she had no regrets, even if she might sometimes miss those who were far away.

After the dinner Faramir lead them into a spacious parlour. It was a warm evening and the twin doors leading outside into the garden were open, and scent of flowers was in the air. Father engaged Éomer in a conversation about what precisely a Marshal's position did entail, and Amrothos with his brothers listened closely to the young king's explanation, though not all of it was news to him after his time in Aldburg. Elric sat nearby too, never uttering a word but listening to the talks like he'd never hear anything as important. Éowyn conversed with Aredhel, with whom she appeared to get along very well, and Fainien and Elswite chattered away in soft tones. Lothíriel herself put little Elfhild to sleep in one of the guest rooms. Poor little thing was exhausted after the day's commotion and it was past her bedtime anyway.

When she returned to the parlour Faramir joined her. Almost as long as Lothíriel could remember he had always looked like many a concern burdened him, and his eyes had seemed faraway. But now lines of worry were smoothed away from his face and the reason for this new, happier Faramir was not lost to her. And because of it, she thought, Éowyn's departure would be bearable.

"Thank you for letting Elfhild sleep in the guest room. It's far too noisy here", she thanked her cousin. He smiled gently.

"Don't mention it, cousin. It's not like we don't have room for a little girl", he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I never thought you could be so motherly."

"Neither did I. But many things have changed, myself included", she answered. He nodded thoughtfully. His smile widened then.

"You remember what we talked about before the day you wedded your husband?" he asked softly.

"Wasn't it something about how I should only ever call you if he treated me badly?" Lothíriel recalled, looking back to that day which now seemed so long ago.

"Yes, about so", Faramir said. "Truth be told, for some time I did believe I would perhaps have to fulfil that promise... but now I know you could handle everything yourself in the unlikely situation that he'd make you unhappy. But one needs to just look at the two of you together to know that he cares for you very much."

"That is how the Rohirrim love their own. It is with the full fire of their hearts", Lothíriel said softly. She glanced at Éowyn, and looked then back to Faramir, "You'll see for yourself."

"You think I'm her own?" he asked, eyes glittering good-humouredly.

"Oh, you are. Don't you ever doubt it, cousin", she told him; Faramir hemmed and looked happy.

Father made his way to her eventually. Yesterday after their arrival there had not really been a chance to talk in private. About as soon as Lothíriel and her Rohirric family had made their way to Father's house, a word had arrived that Aredhel along with Erchirion and Fainien had just landed in Harlond. In other words, it had turned out an entire compilation of reunions, and the day had gone quickly by in exchanging tidings and just basking in the happiness that was seeing so many familiar faces gathered together.

"Hello there, dear daughter", said Imrahil softly as he wrapped his arms about her shoulders and hugged her.

"Father", Lothíriel answered with a smile, "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes. I suppose I just feel bittersweet... having all of you here, yet knowing it will not go on forever", he said, and she thought there were tears in his eyes. But he wouldn't let them fall, and he smiled.

"I know. I thought the same", she said and squeezed his hands gently.

"Hmm. Well, Aragorn tells me that the Dimholt Road should now be safe for travel. That way you can make the journey to Dol Amroth in no time. I expect you to come and visit often", he said as they sat down near the window. Father continued, "But I suppose you'll be very busy from now on... my daughter, the Queen of Rohan! You should know I did not expect to hear that."

She couldn't hold back a small laugh.

"Believe me, no one was more surprised as myself. I'm getting used to it, though – I even remember to answer now when they call me the Queen these days", Lothíriel told her father. He gave her a thoughtful look.

"To be honest, it makes sense in a way. This is just my observation of course, but you two are quite natural at it – I should have known all along that husband of yours was destined for something like this. And you, Lothíriel... I believe you always had it in yourself. Your mother was always so convinced you were not given to us for a small consequence", he said, his voice soft and gentle. "She'd be proud."

"You think so?" asked the young queen weakly, and he gave he shoulder a gentle pat.

"I do, dear Lothíriel. She'd tell me not to worry, but sometimes I still do", Imrahil said. He fell silent for a moment and looked away, and when he turned his gaze back towards her he looked somehow troubled. "Daughter, I'd have you know I don't tell you any of these things because I somehow think you're not confident enough to handle yourself. I know now that you have grown up and have a life that makes you happy. As a father it's just sometimes difficult when one's children are far away..."

Sensing he wasn't quite finished yet, Lothíriel said nothing but studied her father intently. He went on, smiling now, "And now I fully understand that it _is _a happy life. When I visited you in Rohan, I already saw you were getting along well, but now... watching you with your family has made it quite clear. It is easier to bear the distance between ourselves when I know you're so loved by your husband."

"Just as I love him", Lothíriel reassured her father. She smiled, "I could not have had a better companion for life. You chose well for me."

She leaned towards him to give his cheek a kiss, "And you know, you're just as welcome in Edoras."

"Of course. Seeing little Elfhild I've realised she should see more of her mother's kin... before she turns into a Shieldmaiden as well!"

"Hmph. Elfhild can be whatever she wants to be. And being kin to my husband and his sister Éowyn, I wouldn't even be too surprised if she insisted on learning swordsmanship when she grows up", Lothíriel said nonchalantly. Father shook his head at that and tried to look disapproving, but in the end he could not but smile.

It was late that they finally said goodbye to the company. The Dol Amrothian portion of the family would return to the House that had belonged to the Princes of Belfalas since the times immemorial, and Éowyn stayed behind to tell Faramir a lengthy goodnight; Lothíriel imagined it was also because she wanted to give some space to the family of her brother, and to enjoy the fair night of May herself.

Some Rohirric guards had come along, and they had stayed in the guard house with Faramir's own men. Apparently the King of Rohan and his family couldn't attend to a dinner without several guards escorting them, as if he weren't able to protect his wife and children by himself – not to mention the implication that some malicious substance might be stalking the very Citadel in the night. But silly as it seemed Éomer had said apparently this was necessary, and the guards on duty tonight were not as fussy as Éothain anyway.

So they made way back towards the Citadel. Lothíriel held Elric's hand, mostly to make sure the boy stayed awake and didn't trip, and Éomer carried sleeping Elfhild, who was evidently quite oblivious to being moved from the bed in the Steward's House. The little one slept soundly, head against her father's strong shoulder. The night was warm and the fragrance in the air was sweet, and had the children not been along Lothíriel might have come up with some mischief. But then, just walking in this gentle calm and companionable silence was nice as well.

They bid goodnight to Elric as soon as they got to the palace. The boy gave them a sleepy smile and trudged off on his way to the servants quarters where he stayed with Ceola and Hrodgar. Due to his obscure position he couldn't be housed in the palace itself, but the boy himself didn't really care where he got to sleep as long as there was a roof over his head.

"I was wondering if it was a good decision to take him along. I knew you'd want to see him, but if it comes to common knowledge that he's your illegitimate child he might come to suffer for it. Courtiers are very concerned with genealogies and propriety", Lothíriel said softly to her husband.

"He's not going to participate any court gatherings, so I wouldn't be too worried about it. I already had a word with Éothain and asked him to see if Elric could join some of the younger riders for the time being... but not too young, as I wouldn't want him getting himself into trouble", said her husband calmly. "But if anyone does insist on making comments about him, they will find that the King of Rohan can be a very unpleasant man."

"That is hard to believe", she commented, more lightly now.

"You have a biased opinion anyway, _déor min", _he answered and a gentle look returned into his eye.

"Oh, I know", she smiled at him. But then she frowned, "I suppose we'll have to participate in the celebrations tomorrow?"

"Aye. I'd have the courts meet my Queen, and Aragorn would probably wish for it as well", he said. "And anyway, I do wish to give the proof that I am indeed married. You see, when we first returned from Cormallen, some unmarried ladies would not quite believe I actually have a wife."

"I suspected as much. Poor darling", Lothíriel said, at which he snorted, but she saw the glint of humour in his eyes.

They had already gotten to their chambers. Upon the arrival of the Queen of Rohan, Aragorn had insisted they move into more spacious guest rooms. The offer had been welcome, as Elfhild could have a room of her own but stay close to her parents. There was even a separate bathroom and a balcony in the chambers, and altogether it was very nice.

When they entered, Éomer made way to Elfhild's chamber, and quietly Lothíriel followed. As she stopped at the door to watch him put their daughter to sleep, a powerful sense of _rightness _came to her. It made her smile for another reason as well: here was the bold warrior king being the loving parent.

Ever so gently, he placed Elfhild there and tucked the blankets securely about her small form. Once he had secured her doll beside her, he let his hands fall... and there he remained for a while, quietly regarding his daughter. Brushing a stray lock of hair from Elfhild's face, he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

When Éomer looked up he noticed Lothíriel looking at him from the doorway. He lifted his eyebrows.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

"I was just... I don't know. Marvelling, I suppose you could call it", she said softly. "Seeing you and her, and both of you alive and safe, I feel blessed."

He smiled now and came to her and kissed her gently.

"As do I", he said after pulling back. Looking down at her, he seemed happy and content, "And I never thought I would have so many beautiful things in my life."

"I love you, Éomer", she told him softly and he scooped her up in his arms.

"And I love you, Lothíriel."

* * *

The Great Hall of Feasts, Merethrond of the Citadel, was filling with guests when Lady Caleniel of Lossarnarch along with her three daughters made their entrance. These past days had been one endless celebration, what with all the banquets and social gatherings and balls. But how could one complain? It had been a long time since the courts had last seen so much excitement. The long years of war and shadow had not exactly encouraged the atmosphere for merrymaking.

"Do you see them yet?" asked Síladwen anxiously, her hazel eyes scanning the crowd. She had insisted on dressing green, though Caleniel had tried to tell her daughter that if the rumours were true, there would be no reason to try and appease to the man's eyes.

"Of course he's not here yet. You have seen him and you know he doesn't exactly blend in", said Ningloreth. Older of the two young women, she had already accepted it as a fact that the King of Rohan was after all just as married as rumour had it, though the woman had yet to make an official appearance.

Upon the return of the Lords of the West from the Battle of Morannon, a very important observation was made among the young, unmarried ladies of the court. The observation was that, once bathed and dressed in a way fitting for his status, King Éomer of Rohan was quite a handsome man – well, if you liked blond and bearded giants, that was. It was not just that, though: he was reportedly friends with all the important people in the land, a war hero on his own right, and his sister was none else than the Slayer of the Witch-king. In other words, a man could not possibly be more eligible than this Rohirric King was. But now there was a rumour going around that he was already married. Apparently the King had himself told that to some overly enthusiastic lady.

"Do you think it's true, Mother?" asked Síladwen. She was worrying a lock of dark hair between her fingers, like she always did when she was nervous.

"You know what your little sister Laerien saw, daughter", said Caleniel, though a part of her still hoped it had just been a misunderstanding. Her youngest daughter, who had not yet turned 13, had only two days ago happened on a most alarming scene. Apparently she had seen the King of Rohan dashing through the corridors like Sauron himself was chasing him. Out of curiosity Laerien had followed... only to come across something that worryingly looked like a scene of reunion. In the great hall she had seen the King with a dark-haired woman and two children, and according to Laerien much kissing and hugging had taken place. He had not joined the celebrations that night or the next, and the society remained on their toes. Of course King Elessar could have been asked of it, considering he was a good friend of King Éomer, but one just doesn't go to ask one's liege lord about things like that. And anyway it'd be soon revealed.

"But how could his wife be Gondorian?" asked Ningloreth for her part. That seemed to be what bothered her the most. If this mysterious lady had at least been Rohirric it would have been bearable. But a Gondorian! It was like cheating, even as premature.

"Laerien said this woman looked like she was one of us. But she didn't know her, which is understandable. After all, your little sister has not been in the court before this, so she would not recognise even the highest lady in the land", Caleniel answered.

"It is all quite stupid. I think we should just go and ask Lady Éowyn", muttered Síladwen.

"Like you'd dare. Everyone is scared of her, but you're more than most", Ningloreth snorted. She looked around, "She hasn't attended the gatherings either."

"Calm down, you two. I've already told you five times what I overheard Lord Faramir saying. The King of Rohan will come tonight, and he'll bring his wife as well", Caleniel said steadily. She frowned at her two daughters, "And you'd do well to remember that she's a queen. Not only that, but she's the queen of a people to whom we all owe our lives. We must treat the Rohirrim with all due respect."

"Of course, Mother", sighed the two at the same time.

"Sister! There you are. I was wondering whether you'd come at all", came the voice of Saeleth, Caleniel's younger sibling. Married to Lord Denethor's second cousin, she had done quite well in life. Though she was gaining on years now, Caleniel could very well see why it was. Saeleth's hair still bore no grey, and even lined her face was elegant and pleasant to look at. She was a good conversationalist as well and had a naturally stylish taste.

"Go along, girls. I'd talk with your Aunt for a bit", she told her daughters, who went on their ways, to see their friends she guessed.

"Little Laerien didn't come this time?" asked Saeleth as she cast about a searching look.

"No. She stayed behind... but only after a loud argument. She'd have wanted to see the Queen of Rohan", said Caleniel. Her words made her sister laugh.

"And she's not the only one. Half the court seems to think this Queen does not exist at all. Really, the word that she might be Gondorian has only turned some of us quite insane..." Saeleth said lightly and shook her head.

"It's easy or you to laugh. These days have not been too gentle on us mothers of unmarried girls. First Steward Faramir sets his eyes upon a Shieldmaiden of the North, and then it turns out their King is not going to make up for this by finding a wife here... and I'm not even going to mention what they say about King Elessar and his liaisons", Caleniel sighed.

"Oh, yes. It all sounds quite fantastic. But did you hear of Prince Amrothos? Apparently even he is out of question now", said her sister then, which made the younger woman turn sharply.

"What? This I have not heard", she quickly uttered.

"How could you miss it? Well, I suppose the land is full of so many news these days that it is really difficult to keep track of everything. Be it as may, apparently Prince Imrahil had sent his son to Rohan on some errand, and declared upon his return that he now has a wife there. They are going to join the celebration tonight", Saeleth answered. It made the younger sister sigh heavily.

"Apparently there is no eligible men left in the land then?" she asked.

"Don't be so sad, sister. There are plenty of young lords gathered here, and I should imagine now after the war all love will flourish", Saeleth answered, smiling brightly and sipping her wine.

"Sadly, not all of us are as fortunate as yourself, sister! Having three sons and a husband who is ingenious enough to come up with livelihood for all of them is another thing entirely", Caleniel pointed out, "and even you can't claim that you wouldn't want a king as your son-in-law."

"Of course, sister", Saeleth said serenely.

Caleniel's daughters returned then, and briefly the conversation was occupied by other matters. One activity was to observe the arriving nobility, whose names a herald announced from a dais. Lady Éowyn looked radiant as she strode beside Lord Faramir, and the two were laughing at something. After them came the sons of Prince Imrahil with their wives. First Prince Elphir and Erchirion, along with Ladies Aredhel and Fainien – apparently it was true that the younger of the two was with child. Then came the call: "Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth and Lady Elswite of Rohan!"

The prince himself was a handsome fellow – something that had been generally agreed upon the day he had first appeared in court – and was known as a charmer with an eye for ladies. In that light it was very interesting to see what kind of a woman precisely did it take for him to wish for a marriage. And now beside him she was, dressed in green shade of young grass. Caleniel had expected to see a fair-haired woman, something similar to the Rohirric King and his sister, but this woman's hair was a crown of long auburn braids. She wore no headdress except for a simple golden circlet. That was quite unseen here in Gondor, as the style of some years had now been that married women covered their heads or at the very least used a hair net. But this young woman, who couldn't be much older than 20 summers if even that, glided beside her Prince of a husband with her head bare. But fair she was, though she sported freckles apparently, and her eyes were wide and bold in a way no Gondorian woman's eyes were.

Prince Imrahil arrived then, alone as he had been ever since the death of his wife (with the exception of sometimes escorting his daughter – what had happened to that girl anyway?), and Caleniel glanced at her sister.

"There are many widows in the land, sister, and the Prince looks wonderful as ever", she noted, which made Saeleth snort.

"Maybe Ningloreth should marry him!" Síladwen snickered behind her fan, which instantly earned a blazing look from her sister. Caleniel sighed to herself. She knew this matter would be much discussed once they got home.

"Yes, I should, and be the highest lady in the land and I could send you into exile!" Ningloreth snapped.

But the two couldn't continue their argument, for now the herald announced a much awaited name: "Their Majesties, King and Queen of Rohan!"

The tall Rohir appeared in his usual greens, smiling and looking happier than ever before in these court gatherings. However, it was not him that called the collective attention of all court, but the woman beside him. She wore green as well, but her dark hair and grey eyes instantly betrayed her Númenorian blood. It was many years since Caleniel had last seen this young woman and back then she had been little more than a girl... but the face was familiar, for it was none other than Imrahil's daughter, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. There she stood beside the King of Rohan and for one moment Caleniel was certain there was some mistake.

"It can't be! You can't say it's _Lothíriel!" _Ningloreth gasped, though at least she was trying to keep low her voice.

"When did she marry the King of Rohan?" Caleniel wondered out as well. "I'm sure something like that would have earned some attention."

But Saeleth had narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and was watching the King and Queen as they glided through the crowd.

"I seem to remember hearing she was married off to some Marshal couple of years ago. I believe her sister-in-law, Lady Aredhel, mentioned it some time. It was a purely political marriage and not much spoken about, so I suppose the wedding was quite small. Lord Denethor, bless his soul, never made a fuss of things", she said and sipped her wine. Apparently she saw the question the faces of her nieces, for she continued: "I understand King Éomer was indeed a Marshal before the war."

"But Lothíriel is a _brat!" _Ningloreth argued, looking a bit like she might go and inform the King of Rohan of her opinion on his wife. Her aunt gave her a stark look.

"She was born a princess, niece. It doesn't matter if she is or was a brat or not – political alliances don't ask such thing. And now she's a queen and you'd do well to remember that when you speak to her", Saeleth said evenly. A smile touched her face then, "Because if you don't, she just might send her sister-in-law, Lady Éowyn of Rohan, after you."

That appeared to seriously disconcert Ningloreth. She glanced at the Slayer of the Witch-king, who was currently talking with Prince Erchirion, as if she was worried the fair-haired woman had heard her and would indeed come for her with vengeance.

"I believe we should go and exchange few words with her. Her mother was a distant cousin of ours, after all", prompted Caleniel. Incidentally, her daughters didn't seem too keen to join them, and when a moment arrived that the Queen of Rohan was not quite so besieged by guests, Saeleth and Caleniel made their way towards her.

The Queen was conversing with Ladies Fainien and Elswite when the two noblewomen arrived. At the sight of the two the young Lady of the Rohirrim smiled and bowed her head when they curtsied. Caleniel couldn't help but thought that the tantrum-prone girl had grown into a woman who could be called beautiful without a trace of flatter or lie.

"My lady", greeted Saeleth, "It has been a long time since we last met, so I'm not sure if you remember myself and my sister?"

"Oh, I do remember you both, long as it has been since my last visit in the court", said the young queen.

"How long is it that you left Gondor, my lady? I can't remember when I last saw you", asked Caleniel.

"Two years now. It has been an eventful time", answered the Queen. She glanced at the two other women in her presence, "You've met my sisters-in-law? You must know Fainien, but Elswite joined our family only a little while ago."

"It's a pleasure to meet you", Saeleth said, giving the young woman a smile, which was answered shyly.

"Likewise. I never expected my life to take a turn like this, and I admit I'd be lost here without Lady Fainien and Lothíriel Queen", she said in a soft, melodious voice.

"I must say, Lady Queen", Caleniel put in, "I was rather surprised when you appeared there at the side of King Éomer."

"Yes, I have been told my identity and even existence has been something of a controversial topic lately. I was surprised to hear that, considering the reputation of honesty that is often mentioned when the Rohirrim are conversed..." she said and the older woman couldn't really say what was the colour of her voice. Still, she smiled as she continued, "My poor husband told me some ladies would not believe it when he made it known he was married."

"Amrothos would not stop laughing when he heard", Elswite commented, which instantly made Caleniel turn her gaze towards her: talking in the presence of her own queen like that, and speaking of her husband so? However, the Queen smiled at her and Caleniel thought it was probably just some Rohirric thing.

"He looked like he'd have choked on his tea. He was lucky that Éowyn was there", agreed the young queen. Evidently she saw nothing odd in her sister-in-law's manner of speaking.

"I would love to hear more of the time you have spent in Rohan, if it please you, my lady. If you suffer me asking, do you already have children?" inquired Saeleth then.

"Aye", said the Queen – her tone was indisputably _Rohirric – _and he face turned fond, "We have one daughter already. Little Elfhild was not born a princess, but I suppose she'll have to get used to it now."

"I suppose it is a very different life you live in Rohan", Caleniel mused. She was studying the face of this young queen, and pondering what her daughter had said. Ningloreth had not been exactly wrong to say that Lothíriel had been a brat, but this woman before her did not seem so at all. If anything, there was serenity on her face and a look of contentment. Two years in Rohan... perhaps that was enough time for anyone to grow up.

"Oh, it probably is. We are used to it, so it doesn't seem anything odd to us of course... but it's a good life. The air in the north is fresh and free and the people are generous and good. There is bravery but also laughter. That's what I love about the Rohirrim – I never really knew how to laugh before I married my husband. And when you think you've learned all that is to be learned of the Rohirrim, they prove that you still don't know the half of it", said the Queen. She shared a smile with Lady Elswite, like they were enjoying some joke only they understood.

Caleniel would have asked more, but then she became aware of a presence that demanded attention, and the King of Rohan himself came to halt beside his wife. Up close, it was almost intimidating how he towered.

"Ladies", he greeted them with a nod of his head, and the two sisters quickly fell into curtsies. The King himself wrapped an arm about the waist of his wife and kissed her brow, and Caleniel half expected the young queen to reject these outrageously public shows of affection, but instead she just smiled up at him and rested her own hand on his.

"Dearest, these are Ladies Saeleth and Caleniel. They are distant relatives through my late mother", said the Queen. She smiled at the two sisters, "I trust I do not need to introduce my husband the King?"

"Oh, not at all. It is an honour", Saeleth answered. Ever the conversationalist, she engaged the King in a discussion about the Rohirric culture, and soon the whole small party was laughing and talking of cultural differences between the two allied realms. But no bigger cultural difference, thought Caleniel, was there than the one before her eyes: the tall, fierce-looking warrior king and his delicate Gondorian wife who had been brought up in the finest courts imaginable. And yet at times they gazed at each other like neither had ever seen anything quite as wonderful.

_Well. _Who'd have thought that love could be born and flourish in that strange country of these wild horsemen? Or perhaps one should rather have asked what was it about the northern air and water that apparently even robbed a Gondorian noblewoman of years of education in modesty. Briefly, Caleniel made a mental note of having to never visit that land, and she even mused if it was for the better that the King of Rohan was already married.

And, as she saw the looks on their faces when they retired early that night, she knew it was true.

* * *

**A/N: **Here comes an update at last! I've had some problems writing this chapter, and then _Wild Hearts _barged in and demanded attention. I'm not sure I'm completely satisfied with this chapter, but at this point I just need to get it out.

I wanted to show the happiness of reunions but also bit of a Gondorian point of view to the Rohirric royalty. Also some snuggles were in order, I think, after all the times of Éomer and Lothíriel being parted from each other. And Amrothos and Elswite have decided to stay in Rohan, which at this point seems like the best choice for them in my opinion. I'd say it's also at least partly because Elswite doesn't want to leave her parents now that her brother and cousin are gone.

If you wonder why doesn't anyone know the King of Rohan's wife is actually Lothíriel is - I hope - illustrated by Lady Saeleth here. No great noise was made of the whole matter, and as it was initially a political arrangement, I'd think it wouldn't have seemed like too big news. Not too much of Éomer is known in Gondor anyway, and after all he did return from the Battle of Pelennor fields as a king, so I'd think there's even a chance people made the assumption he had been in that position far longer or was prince or something like that. So if some people did know that Lothíriel had married a Marshal of the Mark, they probably didn't make the connection between this Marshal and Éomer. I don't think Gondorian noblewomen like Lady Caleniel even have a very good idea of how the Rohirric society works and what is the "who is who" of their land.

In case you wonder how long Lothíriel has been in Minas Tirith, it's the third day of her stay by the time the ball takes place.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

**Borys68 - **Oh, you're completely right that Erkenbrand has lost family members. However, at that point he has not yet heard the news. Éomer is planning to deliver the message himself, considering Erkenbrand is one of Théoden's trusted men and will also have an important role when Éomer returns and takes up the kingship.

I don't think anyone would really dare to show actual xenophobia. Like Caleniel tells her daughters here, they do owe their survival to the Rohirrim, and it would be ill behaviour to not show utmost respect. Not to mention it's more or less common knowledge that King Elessar himself is very good friends with Éomer and Éowyn, so offending them would probably earn Arargorn's disapproval.

**A Light in the Night - **Hrodgar has not quite revealed it yet - the whole matter wouldn't have fit in this chapter anyway. But we'll see!

**ladymoonscar - **You're welcome. :)

**distaff . exile - **That is good as well!

**Kiiimberly - **There is something really sweet about writing reunions. :) And yes, Éomer's feelings towards his family may very well affect his judgement.

**Talia119 - **As if I could kill him off just like that! :D Also it's good to hear that last chapter managed to tie up those threads.

At least here I think Imrahil does show he understands and acknowledges that there is great love and devotion between Lothíriel and Éomer. Like he says, it makes it easier for him to bear the distance.

**SymphonicPoem - **He comes when he will! :)

**uniabocetaP - **It's always a pleasure to hear that I've managed to appeal to tastes that don't usually care for this sort of thing! I'm glad that you enjoy this story so much, even if it's not what you usually like. :)


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